Friday the 13th: Death Awakened
by MysteryFan11
Summary: A new group of high school students are stalked and killed by Jason Voorhees after a Halloween party they throw at Crystal Lake wakes him from his slumber - please R&R! Much more to come
1. Chapter 1

Saturday, July 14th

The Present 

Fear.

A word, a feeling of dread man experiences daily.

Of course, the fear man runs into at the most unpleasant moments takes on so many other forms.

Fear of loneliness, fear of punishment/pain, fear of others, and fear of death are a few of the more common examples.

Obviously, calling fear 'a word' simply does not sum up the terror it brings about within a man's soul.

Nevertheless, it was fear that caused the hospital attendant, who only moments before had been driving along the highway expertly, to lose control of the ambulance, sending it, along with its attacker and its two other passengers, spiraling off of the endless stretch of smooth, black pavement.

Fear that had blossomed into sheer panic had brought about the horrific accident.

Fear and something else...

Jason Voorhees.

xxx

The scene was like something out of a highly-celebrated disaster movie: greasy, black smoke billowed up from the smoldering wreckage, eventually shooting high up into the morning sky.

The sky itself was quite breathtaking, an off-pink in color, mixed with a warm, cozy yellow. Wispy clouds hung suspended within the dull atmosphere, and it almost looked as if rain would be arriving sometime the following week.

Back on earth, rain was quite a meager, insignificant concern.

In fact, considering the hundreds of accidents Assistant Deputy Howard Kenton had investigated within the past six years, the wreckage beneath Interstate 7 seemed to be rather unimportant and not worth the effort of filing an appropriate report.

Upon arriving at the scene, Howard, a tall, imposing man in his early forties sporting a coffee-colored moustache, had momentarily been taken aback by how most of the wreckage had already been reduced to blackened ash.

According to the few eyewitness reports (there had been little to no traffic on the sprawling Interstate so early in the morning), the ambulance had, for no visible reason, turned off of the highway, ramming into the surrounding metal rails and immediately tearing right through them_._ Then, the vehicle proceeded to roll down the short incline below, no doubt killing the driver and the two passengers: a second attendant, seated up in the front seat, and a local woman, rescued from Camp Crystal Lake, who was being driven to the nearby hospital.

A coroner had not yet been apprised of the situation, so it was impossible to tell if the victims had died right away or some time later, due to their substantial injuries (the Assistant Deputy hadn't arrived at the wreckage until about twenty minutes after the accident had taken place).

Scratching his head, Howard Kenton had done his best to identify the bodies haphazardly thrown from the burning ambulance: the two attendants he faintly recognized, so he believed they must have been locals, as well.

Both bodies completely drenched in blood, Howard had located one of the corpses sprawled like an eradicated puppet atop a smoking piece of the vehicle. The second man, his face and his skin horribly burned and bloodied, lay wedged between two torn seats in the middle of the ever-growing flames, his eyes staring through the fire, into nothingness. Even from outside the ring of inferno, Howard could tell that the burning eyes were blood-shot and glazed.

Shivering, he had then attempted to locate the woman's body, which he discovered was quite difficult to uncover. Gently kicking away a pile of blazing IV bags and scorched IV lines, Howard managed to create a path into the heart of the wreckage.

Keeping his distance from the fire, he removed his gun from its holster, and began to brush back the fiery cinders with its barrel, his heart pounding vigorously within his chest.

What would he find? A third body, no doubt. Of course, one witness claimed to have seen a form leap from the ambulance's rear just before the emergency response vehicle crashed.

According to the questioned woman, she clearly saw the form roll down the incline directly behind the ambulance, yet somehow the figure managed to avoid the accident, escaping into the surrounding woods.

After questioning the remaining witnesses, Howard had immediately jogged down the hill, making sure to steer clear of the catastrophe. He then proceeded to make his way a few hundred yards into the miniature forest, his eyes peeled for any sets of footprints.

As he had expected, he had found none.

Of course, the woods just led back into town, anyway.

If there had been some fourth passenger that had survived, he or she would have been heading in the opposite direction of the hospital; if in fact they had definitely been seen hurrying into the woods.

Howard Kenton suspected that no such sighting had ever taken place.

After a few more moments of searching the wreckage, he found his third victim.

The woman lay face-up atop the ground, her lower torso and what was left of her body pinned beneath an unidentifiable piece of warped, smoldering metal, possibly the backdoor of the ambulance.

Her complexion was pale (she was visibly dead, after all), and she had blood trickling out from the corners of her mouth, dripping down her cheeks and eventually into her dark hair.

Howard frowned...yes, something was clearly wrong with her body.

The woman had virtually identical marks on her throat that seemed to line up perfectly, as if she had been strangled prior to or during the crash.

_Impossible, _Howard thought, smirking.

Six years on the force did not explain why a hospital attendant or someone else would strangle a half-dead local woman, already on her way to the emergency room.

As Howard kneeled closer, however, the marks looked more and more like the imprint of fingers that had been wrapped around the woman's throat.

The woman, that was what was important..._who was she? _

If she had her ID with her, that would clear up the small matter.

Howard gingerly checked the woman's jacket pocket.

No ID.

Of course, her Identification could have been stashed within her pants pockets, both of which were inaccessible to Howard; the woman's legs were trapped beneath the ambulance door, and no doubt crushed beyond belief.

That still depended on whether or not she had her ID on her person in the first place.

Most people, ten years into the second Millennium, did not, only making Howard's job that more difficult.

Sighing, he climbed to his feet, eyed the body once more, and grabbed a small two-way radio from out of his own pocket.

Twisting a dial or two and pulling up the silver antennae, he brought the walkie-talkie close to his face.

"This is patrol car 14-A reporting major accident directly below Interstate 7," Howard said beneath his breath in a cool, Southern accent. "At least three people dead, bodies yet to be identified, all locals from the looks of it. Squads, stay by the radio, 'cause this one's a biggie...an ambulance rolled down an incline, according to the few witnesses I spoke with. Rounded 'em all up, too...ought to bring 'em down to the station for further questioning."

Turning away from the wreckage, Howard Kenton continued to speak into the walkie-talkie.

"Need one or two emergency response vehicles out here stat..."

The movement was so fast, so sudden, that even a man with reflexes like a cat could not possibly have dodged out of the way before the sharp metal cord, held by a pair of horrifically-burned hands, wrapped around the Assistant Deputy's throat.

Taken by surprise, Howard attempted to twist his slim body around in order to get a glimpse of his attacker, but the cord simply dug deeper into his flesh, drawing bright red blood that trickled down the dying man's chest.

Eyes bulging, throat clenching violently, he tried to take a step forward, away from his assailant, but the cord would not snap, and continued to rapidly asphyxiate him.

With every last ounce of his strength wasted, Howard Kenton felt the life speedily drain out of him, allowing the walkie-talkie to fall from his numbing hands.

The two-way radio fell to the ground, emitting nothing but static, as a final gasp escaped from the Assistant Deputy's strained throat immediately before Death came to claim him.

xxx

Sunday, August 13th

The Present 

The following morning, a bright, cheery grapefruit sun hung in the pinkish, grayish sky, casting light down upon the almost identical homes of the Crystal Lake area. "Time to get up", the sun seemed to shout from high above.

Only one resident cared to listen to the morning star as a young boy atop a dull red bicycle pedaled rapidly down the tree-lined street, flinging newspapers from out of a brown bag he had slung over his left shoulder.

The oak front door to that particular resident's house opened almost immediately after the morning paper had landed with a thud atop her doorstep.

A tall, pale woman, her shockingly-light blonde hair pulled back into an unkempt bun, exited the modest home, draped in only an off-white bathrobe and matching slippers; it was morning, after all, and Kristen Greenwald had just gotten out of bed to the sounds of the local paper boy making his daily routes.

Kristen was quite a bit frazzled-looking as she bent down to retrieve her paper, only after admiring her surroundings, something she did every morning.

She simply couldn't begin to appreciate the fact that her parents had packed up all of their tacky belongings, moving to the other side of town just so that their daughter could live closer to her temporary workplace, Camp Crystal Lake.

And how short-lived her time at the camp had been.

All the outside world knew of Kristen's harrying experience there was that she emerged from the campgrounds with two deaf children by her side, all three of them drenched in blood.

Of course, Kristen, one of the four survivors of Jason Voorhees's latest rampage, liked to keep it that way. Even her parents, the only two people she truly loved in the world after her boyfriend, Jared, had been killed by the local masked psychopath, were only told to keep their doors and their windows locked at night, which their very rarely did, anyway.

They simply could not understand the danger they were exposing themselves to.

Kristen, however, would spend nights lying awake, fighting losing battles in order to keep such thoughts out of her head.

None of the four had seen each other since the bloodbath, which they had escaped from only a month ago, so she could only imagine the thoughts that were racing through their minds.

The children, Ron and Judy, were no doubt still traumatized.

Upon picking up the newspaper and flipping through it casually until she located the headlines for the day, Kristen realized in sheer, mind-numbing horror that she, along with the two children, were now the _only _survivors of the Crystal Lake tragedy.

Covering her mouth with a trembling hand, her eyes burning and welling up with tears, Kristen hastily read through the small article that had slammed her back against her front door like a bullet: "**First Month Anniversary of ****Local Woman and Two Hospital Attendants' Deaths in in Fatal Highway Accident; Officer Still Missing From Scene; Presumed Dead". **

How had she not read about this sooner…?

It was then that the terror set in, the horrific, spine-chilling terror. Shaking unsteadily and clenching her tingling chest, Kristen rapidly threw open the oak door, and stepped inside the dark house.

It took the trembling woman a moment to remember how much she hated the blackness and the shadows that seemed to be encroaching upon her.

Flicking the nearby switch, Kristen allowed the warm light to flood over her before she made her way into the dining room, newspaper clenched in her shaking hand.

The house was small - Kristen called it "modest"- and dusty - Kristen called it "cozy" - but it served its purpose, which was to provide a temporary home for her until she located a second house, somewhere far away from Crystal Lake. Kristen wanted nothing to do with her would-be killer's favorite residence, and the lake was just down the street from where she currently lived.

Camp Crystal Lake...just mention of the name sent Kristen spiraling down into an abyss that she feared she would never escape. It had been there that seven of her friends, seven of her nearest and dearest, had been brutally massacred.

And it had also been within the surrounding woods that _she _had nearly been butchered, left for dead by a maniac whose only pleasure in life was to make others suffer. Well, in her opinion, Jason had had his chance, and now she was free from him.

But now...with Stevie Parker dead, killed in a horrific accident that Jason no doubt caused directly or indirectly, how safe could she be? Jared, her protector, her knight in shining armor, only managed to defend her for a short amount of time; he had given his life so that she, Ron, and Judy could escape the camp.

Rushing over to the dining room telephone, which hung on the peeling wall by the outdated refrigerator, she grabbed the receiver, and rapidly punched in her chosen number.

At the sound of a low, long drawn-out beep, Kristen hissed beneath her breath, "Pick up, pick up..."

A loud click sounded, and a pre-recorded voice spoke into Kristen's ear.

"Hello, you've reached Arthur and Dolly Greenwald. I'm afraid we are not at home right now, so if you would care to leave a message, press 'one'...if you would like to be forwarded to Greenwald's Grocer and Butcher Shop, press 'two'...if you would like business hours and store location, press 'three'..."

Visibly frustrated, Kristen violently jabbed the 'one' button, her cool eyes no longer worried and afraid, but angry and hostile.

A second loud click sounded, and Kirsten began to speak.

"Hi, Mom, hi, Dad. Sorry to bother you so early in the morning, but who's ever there, please pick up...hello? Okay, I guess you're both still asleep. Anyway, if either of you _are _up and have seen today's headlines, you'll know why I'm calling..."

Kristen looked down at her wristwatch; it was 6:19. Sighing, she turned her attention back to the receiver.

"...So I just wanted to make sure the both of you were all right. By the way, are you still coming over for dinner..."

Sudden movements on the other end made Kristen realize that someone had picked up the phone. Joy flooding her face, she began to speak once more, suddenly being cut off by a sharp click that made her freeze entirely.

"...Tomorrow?"

She trailed off worriedly. "H-hello?"

There came no response, just as Kristen had suspected; whoever had picked up had almost immediately hung up on her. Quite rudely, at that.

Puzzled and a bit nervous, Kristen replaced the receiver, and stood quietly in the dining room, sunlight seeping in from a nearby window shining brightly in her pale face. The color had simply drained from her entire body.

And then, slowly at first, the terrifying thoughts of blood and gore pounded her head and burst into her mind, leaving her speechless and afraid.

They didn't pick up... _Neither one of them picked up. _

Biting her lip, Kristen forced a smile.

But what did that mean? So her parents were sleeping in that day; they were both always up by six 'o clock, at the absolute latest. Big deal.

Smoothing out the creases in her bathrobe in order to occupy herself, Kristen placed the newspaper down atop the dining room table, and began to trek up the staircase that lead to her master bedroom and the adjoining bathroom.

Her plan was to take a luxuriously-long shower, wrap herself back up with the bathrobe, and return to bed, where she would sleep the hours away.

After her ordeal at Crystal Lake a month ago, Kristen deserved a bit of a break.

And after all, Jason Voorhees could not claim her in her dreams...

xxx 

The hours drifted by lazily.

After trudging upstairs, she undressed and treated herself to a scalding shower, as if the steaming, cascading water could wash away her troubles, burning them into nothingness with the extreme heat of the pounding liquid.

Every so often, Kristen would allow herself to temporarily drift off into sleep as she slumped up against the shower wall, sitting atop a small ledge in the corner of the stark-white cubical.

After being jostled awake by the meows of her pet cat, Whiskers, a cat that she had saved from the Crystal Lake tragedy, Kristen desperately attempted to remember how long she had been asleep, certainly no less than an hour-and-a-half.

_It must be around eight by now, _she thought to herself, her mind absolutely blank.

The water was now frigid, and due to the fact that she was shivering profusely, she twisted the knobs of the shower until the cascade of liquid ceased to exist, no more than a few cold drops that dripped from the shower head.

Exiting the wet, glass box, Kristen grabbed her worn yet trusty bathrobe from a nearby towel rack, and wrapped herself snuggly with it, enfolding her dripping blonde hair, now out of its bun, with a second towel that she found lying on the tiled floor.

Slipping slightly, she exited the bathroom, and hurried into the next room, should a neighbor stop by and she her barely covered-up.

Closing the door behind her, she entered her bedroom, small as it was dusty. But hey, she needed somewhere to sleep. Somewhere to sleep and forget the horrors of what she witnessed just last month on Friday, July 13th.

It was now Sunday, August 13th, and she could still not get the image of a gasping, bloodied Jared with a machete embedded in his backside out of her throbbing head.

The steaming shower had helped ease the pain, and for one brief, glorious minute, Jared and his horrific death at the hands of Jason Voorhees, melted away, replaced with an image of herself and Jared, quite well and alive, kissing passionately atop her uncomfortable cabin bed. The kiss, however, had made the bed feel like a pile of soft, white feathers.

But now, lying atop her own bed, the blood-curdling image was back, and had no intention of going away again.

Somehow, however, it did, for within a matter of minutes, Jason Voorhees was gone from her thoughts, and Kristen was fast asleep, Whiskers lying beside her, purring softly. Perhaps it was the sounds of her beloved pet that had finally soothed the terrified young woman into sleep.

And yet, sadly, Kristen Greenwald had reasons to be terrified.

For the worst was yet to come.

xxx

The incandescent moon shone brightly through the small, square bedroom window, casting beams of light down upon a half-asleep Kristen, who was lying on her side, her strands of blonde hair every so often falling down into her face.

The shadows of night had come and were now drawing to a close; the time was 2:07, and soon morning would arrive with all of its shimmering glory.

Morning with its round, glowing sun and its cotton-like clouds colored with soft hues that reminded one of a child's nursery.

Kristen could easily be described as a morning person, though she appreciated a set time of absolute darkness, though such times sent chills down her spine, to lie down atop her pillow and dream of far-off places, romance, and adventure.

That particular night, however, her dreams were more along the lines of nightmares, plagued by a masked stranger wielding a bloodied machete.

Kristen had found herself running through a never-ending stretch of forest that seemed to grow larger and larger with each step she took. The setting of her nightmare was quite familiar to her, and so it came as no surprise to Kristen when her assailant leapt out from behind a withering pine tree.

At first, Kristen had stood her ground, for she appeared to have nowhere else to run; run at the killer, and she would no doubt be caught, or run away from the killer, and risk stumbling across the butchered corpses of her friends.

She had seen enough blood already...no need to uncover any more bodies.

Gritting her teeth, she broke out into a mad dash, with the feeling that she could dodge the masked psychopath before he rammed his blade into her chest.

The horribly-burned, reanimated carcass, however, sported reflexes like a panther, and before Kristen to sidestep her attacker, he had already shoved the machete into her gut.

Nausea washed over Kristen as she felt the blade dig deeper and deeper into her frail, trembling body, until it exited it out through her backside. The pain, the searing, burning pain of death, was unbearable.

Kristen felt herself fall to her knees, and she realized in sheer horror that she was at the mercy of her inevitable killer.

Jason Voorhees.

xxx

The terrifying nightmare jolted Kristen awake as nothing else would.

Shaking unsteadily, she surveyed the cramped bedroom before her, expecting to locate the towering monster lurking about the shadows.

To her relief, she found nothing but Whiskers, who was still lying beside her, curled up into a ball atop the double-sized bed.

Her heart pounding like African tribal drums, Kristen smiled slightly, and began to scratch behind her cat's left ear. Whiskers, purring contentedly, looked straight at his owner with glassy, emerald eyes, eyes as round as the cream-colored moon.

Kristen loved Whiskers with all of her heart, though she had only acquired him on Friday the 13th, after his previous owner, Courtney, had been dragged off of the campground trail by Jason, only to be found hanging from a tree, her throat slit, later on by the authorities. Courtney's boyfriend, Jonathan, met a similar fate, for he was fatally stabbed just as rescue was at hand.

Kristen originally believed that Jonathan had been the final victim...but now with Stevie Parker's death, any of the three remaining survivors could be next.

Only if, of course, the ambulance crash was something more than an accident.

Which it wasn't.

A loud creak outside her bedroom door made Kristen snap to attention.

Craning her neck for a better view of the door before her, she was relieved to see that it had not been opened from the outside. Instead, it was securely closed, its golden knob glistening in the moonlight.

Kristen then wondered if she should lock it.

_This house is falling apart...it's a miracle the floorboards aren't giving way. A few creaks don't mean anything. _

Nevertheless, Kristen was used to fear crawling up her spine, and she could not hold her tongue.

"Hello?", Kristen asked, her voice faltering slightly, eyes staring fixedly at the bedroom door.

The only responses to her call were the distant screeches of a night owl and the low barking of a lonely dog.

Kristen, however, was not entirely convinced that she was alone within her house; how many horror movies had she seen in which the killer stalks up a flight of stairs, and ambushes the female victim within her bedroom?

Well, Kristen Greenwald refused to be the helpless, big-breasted fatality.

She would fight for her life, should it come to that.

Which, she prayed, it would not.

The sharp creak sounded once more, and she could have sworn that she heard the sound of shuffling, dripping feet...

_Keep it together, Kristen...you're letting __**him **__get to you... _

Allowing the killer to influence your thoughts was the surest way to get yourself massacred in such a movie.

But this was no movie.

And the shuffling feet, now drawing closer and closer to the bedroom door, were not sound effects.

The realness of her current situation was enough to make Kristen's heart explode.

_There's someone outside my door...and I'm defenseless. _

No. Kristen Greenwald was _never _defenseless, especially when she had masked murderers on her trail.

The only objects within her bedroom that could pose as weapons were a nightstand lamp, an umbrella stashed away within a dusty corner, and a pair of blunt scissors that she had shoved within one of her many nightstand drawers.

Grabbing the umbrella from its hiding spot, Kristen brought the hand-held sunshade up to her face, and crept along the far wall of the bedroom, making her way towards the door.

_It can't be him...he should be dead... _

Not one to fall for tall tales, Kristen had nevertheless heard stories documenting Jason Voorhees's astounding escapes from Death's clenches.

Twisting the umbrella by its handle within her shaking hands, Kristen pressed the side of her face against the door, so as to hear the movement outside in the hallway.

A loud, raspy breathing directly outside of her bedroom door caught her attention almost immediately.

_Oh, no...please, Lord, no... _

The breathing...where had she heard it before? It was like a deathly wheezing reverberating out through charred lungs.

Suddenly, images of a masked lunatic sporting a machete flooded her mind.

It had to be _him. _

Without warning, the knob was twisted violently from the outside hall, and the door slowly began to open.

Eyes widening in terror, Kristen allowed the umbrella to fall from her hands as she threw herself against the bedroom door, ramming it closed.

Whatever was waiting for her on the other side of the door no doubt stumbled backward, and silence followed.

The only sound Kristen could hear was her own rapid breathing.

She was finally _safe. _

Of course, the door had probably just opened because of the air conditioning, or maybe a draft had blown by.

That was all.

Yet the shuffling feet, the breathing...they were both so _real..._

No.

Her imagination.

There was no other explanation...

Stooping over to reclaim her fallen umbrella, Kristen was returning to her bed when curiosity got the better of her.

Puzzled, she spun back around on her heel, grabbed the knob, and with a slight gasp, threw open the door...

The shadows of the dark hallway forced their way into the dimly-lit bedroom.

Hesitantly opening one eye, Kristen saw nothing out of the ordinary...a typical hallway in a typical, modest house on a typical July night.

Perhaps the heat was getting to her.

The darkness was slightly overwhelming, for there were no windows in that particular hallway to allow moonlight to seep in. Instead, every mirror, every painting that hung on the peeling walls were pitch black, as if they had taken on demonic shapes and colors sometime during the night.

Kristen took a step out of the open doorway, but almost immediately a faint, sour odor stung her sensitive nostrils.

Something foul, like rancid, burning _breath... _

It was then that she stepped into the thick, slimy puddle of black liquid.

Kristen's heart stopped beating.

Nausea overtook her.

_No. _

The realization struck her like a cannonball.

Jason Voorhees was waiting for her, somewhere within her very own home.

He wanted her _dead. _

Fearfully bending down to examine the puddle, Kristen hesitantly grabbed a handful of whatever was floating about the water.

The texture was smooth, and it felt cool and slick against her pale skin.

In the faint light escaping from her bedroom, she could tell that the strands were a deep green.

_Algae...lake plants... _

_ Oh no...Jesus, please, no... _

Jason Voorhees was no doubt downstairs, waiting for her, waiting to spring his trap...

_This can't be happening...not here, not now. _

Sidestepping the puddle and dropping the handful of algae, Kristen raised the umbrella above her head, and began to descend the staircase, the wooden floorboards creaking and groaning beneath her feet.

He couldn't surprise her this time...no, she was prepared.

Kristen clenched the umbrella handle even tighter as she stepped down onto the cold living room floor.

A blinding light shown from the nearby dining room, just down the hall.

Afraid to even breathe, her heart pounding vigorously, she crept across the uncarpeted floor, clawing desperately at the telephone that seemed just out of reach.

She would call the police...yes, that would work; she'd have to keep quiet, though.

And anyway she didn't need to tell them _everything, _for they would certainly dub her insane and hang up on her...just the facts. Someone had broken into her home, the same someone who had probably murdered her parents...

_Trapped with a madman... _

Clutching the umbrella close to her chest, Kristen frantically grabbed the receiver, placed her temporary weapon down atop a nearby sofa, and frenetically dialed 9-1-1.

There came no response.

No human voice, no automated voice.

No dial tone.

Kristen shakily studied the receiver and, in sheer horror, realized that the line had been cut.

_Oh my God...He's…disabled the phone...! _

Weighing her options, Kristen noted that she could attempt to flee out through the nearby front door, but what good would that do? She could try to escape in her car, but the outdated automobile had no doubt already been tampered with.

_Oh…oh, what can I possibly do...? _

The phone. The second telephone in the dining room! If she could just...

A sickening slash sounded from the adjoining room, and Kristen could only imagine what her attacker had just destroyed. Now there was _no _chance of getting help.

She'd have to fight and get him out of her house.

Creeping alongside the nearest wall, Kristen, swallowing her heart, hesitantly poked her head into the dining room.

The blazing light was turned on, yes, but she saw no one.

No one, of course, except for her cat; Whiskers, curled up on the wooden table, meowed at her.

Kristen visibly relaxed, forcing a slight smile.

"Whiskers! Come on, sweetie, go back upstairs..."

She and her lovable pet were both still in danger, after all: someone had to have turned on the dining room lights. Unless it was faulty wiring. Or, had Kristen left them on before she took her shower that morning? She hadn't come back downstairs...

No.

There was someone waiting for her, there _had _to be; Kristen could sense movement in the adjoining hallway.

Turning her head, she spotted the slashed cord hanging lifelessly down from the receiver.

Just as she had feared.

The only two telephones in the entire house were now completely useless.

Out of curiosity more than courage, Kristen stepped past her refrigerator, past her microwave and past her counter space, until she reached the doorway that led into the hall.

Beads of sweat dripping down her pale, expressionless face, Kristen was just about to switch on the lights within the corridor when something behind her caught her wary eye.

Spinning on her heel, Kristen noticed almost immediately that the freezer door was slightly ajar.

Not knowing what to expect, she crept up to the freezer, her heart racing, her palms sweating profusely, and clenched the handle with her free hand.

The door flew open, and a bag of frozen blueberries fell from a shelf, landing with a thud atop the cold floor.

Breathing heavily and laughing silently at her own stupidity, Kristen stooped over to grab the bag, replacing it back within the freezer.

Extending the arm holding the umbrella like a sword, she bent her knees, and began to creep into the next hallway, which was as dark as the night outside.

Kristen moved stealthily out into the open, pinning herself against the floor so as not be seen.

Suddenly, her gaze drifted up to the ceiling above her head, and she could have sworn that something was..._dangling _from what appeared to be a metal chain complete with a rusted hook.

Terrified, Kristen made a move for the light switch...

With a flick of her wrist, the lights were activated, and a flood of brightness from overhead fought back the shadows that had surrounded the suspended object.

Kristen felt a part of her die.

Dripping what could only be blood from its severed neck, the disembodied head stared down at the trembling young woman with glazed, sickly eyes.

The pale face, however, was familiar.

_Jared. _

Kristen clutched her chest with both hands, allowing the umbrella to clatter to the floor.

Her lips formed words, but no sound emitted from her constricting throat.

"J-_Jared...?" _, she choked in numbing horror.

My God..._he_was in her home.

He had to be.

There was no other explanation.

Jason Voorhees had found her.

"Oh...oh my _God...!" _

Throwing herself off of the wall, Kristen broke out into a mad dash, racing back into the kitchen, dodging the chairs, the tables, and the couches within her living room, and eventually stumbling back up the staircase.

This was the end.

She would no doubt be uncovered, trembling within a closet or a bathroom or something.

And then he would draw his blood-soaked machete.

"Jared... _Jared!"_, Kristen wailed, blinded by her own tears.

Leaping up from the last step, she emerged atop the landing, her body shaking due to uncontrollable tremors.

She raced down the hall, praying that Whiskers had found a decent hiding spot away from the dining room.

Grabbing her bedroom door knob, Kristen did not notice that the door itself was slightly ajar...

Rushing into the room, her head throbbing, her chest ready to explode, she was about to jump back beneath her blankets and covers when she froze in mid-stride.

_Oh...God, no..._

There, beside her small, dusty bed, stood a tall, menacing figure enshrouded with the darkness of the night, gently petting Whiskers, who was curled up within the form's arms.

Kristen felt her voice crack as she spoke, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

"W-whiskers...?", she sobbed quietly.

Upon hearing his name, the cat leapt from the figure's arms, and rapidly disappeared out through the open door.

The figure, barely visible within the shadows, cocked its head to one side, and brandished a bloodstained machete, its rust-colored blade sharp enough to pierce the toughest of hides.

Kristen felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand as she began to back away from her assailant.

"N-no," she stammered softly. "No, you should be _dead!" _

The figure took a step forward, its face now partially visible in the moonlight; the sickly, off-green skin, portions of it badly burned and rotted, the bald, bleeding skull, the gnarled, grotesque features...there was only one Jason Voorhees.

Kristen was momentarily taken aback, for she had never seen the killer unmasked; she assumed that he had lost his infamous hockey mask during his lengthy battle with Stevie Parker.

"Stay _away!"_, she wailed, spinning on her heel and attempting to flee.

Jason lunged forward with inhuman speed, extending a gloved hand and grabbing the young woman by her hair.

"Ugh!", Kristen screeched, almost falling to her knees in pain.

As blood began to trickle down from her shredded scalp, she kicked a small, nearby waste paper basket over in her direction with her left foot.

Leaning down slightly to pick up the temporary weapon, she turned her attention to her attacker.

_"Get off of me!"_, she cried, flinging the trash can at Jason.

The basket struck him across his face, sending him stumbling backwards into Kristen's nightstand.

A lamp, an alarm clock, and a box of tissues flew up into the air, each landing atop a dazed Jason with loud thuds, clangs and crashes.

Gritting her teeth to fight back the pain emanating from her skull, Kristen ran out into the hallway, panting wildly.

Groaning in agony, Jason stumbled to his feet, and swayed unsteadily, limping out into the moonlight; he wore a tattered, bloodstained brown jacket, a torn, mud-covered shirt that hid his rotted flesh, and ripped black pants that dripped with lake water.

Limping across the room, he moved with incredible speed for a being nearly burned alive only weeks before. Reaching out for Kristen, who was only a few feet in front of him, he swung his machete wildly, striking a line of framed photographs atop a nearby drawer.

The frames shattered against the impact of the blade, and fragments of glass flew everywhere, raining down atop Jason and momentarily disorienting him.

Kristen, frantically looking back behind her shoulder to see if she was still being followed, noted to herself that her assailant was not moving as fast as he had when she had last encountered him.

_Great_, she thought with a slight smile. _Let him be slow...it'll give me more of a chance to escape and get some help. But what good will the police be against_ _him...? _

Suddenly, Kristen's left ankle became caught on a loose floorboard, ripping her skin and causing her to collapse to the floor.

"Ugh!", she cried, pain shooting up her bleeding leg. "Damnitt...!"

Shuffling footsteps behind her made Kristen realize that Jason had freed himself from the debris that used to be her nightstand.

"Leave me alone!", she wailed, pounding her fists against the ground.

Turning over onto her back, she managed to free her scraped ankle, and began to crawl away from the deformed maniac, who was drawing ever closer, machete raised above his head.

"Please," she whimpered pitifully, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks. "Please, just go away...!"

Jason cocked his head in a mocking, sympathetic manner, yet continued to close in on the helpless woman nonetheless.

Realizing that she needed to find some way to defend herself, Kristen stumbled to her feet, her body trembling with gasps and sobs. She looked up at Jason, her expression dark and livid.

"Get away from me, you son of a _bitch!"_, she screamed, grabbing an empty vase from off of a chestnut table positioned against the wall.

The lavishly-decorated pot struck Jason's head, and almost immediately it sent him propelling backwards.

Small and large portions of the decimated vase, tinted bright red with Jason's blood, landed everywhere, slicing Kristen's ankles and the soles of her feet.

Ignoring the searing pain, she made a move for the staircase, dodging as much debris as possible.

Further down the hallway, Jason climbed to his feet, regaining his footing and continuing to pursue Kristen throughout her house.

Grunting inaudibly, he stalked up the hall, not bothering to avoid the broken hand-blown glass fragments that littered the floor.

Kristen, breathing heavily, was just about to take the first step down the staircase when a bloodied machete struck the wooden handrail beside her.

Spinning around, she came face-to-face with the unmasked serial killer.

"You bastard," she breathed in horror. "You're not real..._you can't be..." _

Jason raised his machete, his inhuman eyes staring down at his next victim, as if he were trying to pierce through her trembling soul.

Kristen began to shake as backed away.

"What _are _you?", she asked, though she expected no answer; Jason simply crept ever closer.

Desperately looking for yet another weapon, Kristen's eyes drifted down the steps and focused in on a pair of gleaming knitting needles resting peacefully atop a coffee table below the staircase.

Looking back up at Jason, she smiled evilly, her face darkening as she started to move away.

"I'll see you in Hell!", she promised, spinning on her heel.

As she turned to race down the steps, a thousand different thoughts flooded her mind.

_If I can just reach those needles...I'll stab him once in each of his goddamn eyes and then make a run for it...! That son of a bitch won't know what hit him. _

Jason looked on in what could be described as amusement as Kristen hurried down the first step, the second step, the third step...

As her left foot struck the fifth step, her smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin.

_I'm gonna make it...I'm gonna make it! A dozen or so more steps to go... _

The sixth step was only millimeters away when Jason extended his right leg, striking Kristen in her backside.

Her eyes widening in terror, she involuntarily let go of the handrail as the force of the kick sent her flying forward.

"AAAAAAAAHHH!", she screeched in sheer horror as her knees buckled, her head and her spine striking the seventh step, the eighth step, the ninth step...

By the tenth step, Kristen Greenwald, still screaming at the top of her lungs, began to roll down the remainder of the staircase, her arms and legs flailing wildly.

As she reached the bottom, her left arm spasmed, crashing into the coffee table that proceeded to fall atop her limp body; the screams had ceased after four or five rolls.

Jason, lowering his machete, lumbered down the stairs after her.

Upon stepping down onto the solid floor, he leaned over the body before him; at a glance, he assumed that her neck had been broken during the fall, though he wouldn't have been surprised if her spine had also been fractured. Nevertheless, she was dead, her expression blank and her eyes wide and staring.

Climbing back to his feet, he prodded the body gently with the hilt of his machete; there came no responsive movement.

Satisfied, Jason sidestepped the corpse, grabbed the knitting needles to use as weapons at a later point in time, and made a move for the door.

Throwing it open, he limped out into the dead of night, his mission complete.


	2. Chapter 2

Friday, October 30th

The Present

Built in 1917 to house injured World War I veterans that lived locally, Clearmont High was converted into a schoolhouse in 1943 and rebuilt with bricks instead of wooden logs after a fire in 1950.

Since it was originally designed by hired hands living in the area, Clearmont High had always looked down upon Crystal Lake and its surrounding forest of towering pine and oak trees.

During autumn and winter, however, the deciduous trees lost many if not all of their leaves, providing scenic views of the lake and the nearby campgrounds.

In 1957, Clearmont High, when it was a school for all ages, lost one of its less-popular students, a reclusive, sadistic boy named Jason Voorhees, whose mother refused to believe that her son suffered from any sort of mental retardation.

It was obvious, however, from Jason's slurred speech, deformed features, and twisted attitude that he was, in fact, disturbingly unhinged.

After the boy's accidental drowning within the waters of Crystal Lake, Pamela Voorhees went on a deranged killing spree the following year, blaming unobservant camp counselors for her son's apparent death.

Clearmont High was quick to change its age requirements and erase any mention of the dead boy from the school records upon confirmation of the woman's involvement in the violent murders.

Now sporting a top-notch faculty and three hundred-something students, Clearmont High was one of the more prominent local schools, and the building's principal, Miss Lynch, liked to keep things that way; she did not accept excuses from pupils, and was speedy to dish out punishments.

For the most part, students were satisfied with their classes, their teachers, and the way things were run.

Gwen Stevenson was an exception.

Gwen sat every afternoon during last period in the same seat, the seat closest to the classroom clock, watching the minutes tick by.

Last period; Mr. Norwood, World History.

Gwen hated Mr. Norwood, his class, his visibly fake toupee, and damn World History to boot.

Thus, the day before Halloween was no different from any other day.

"And so, in 1493, Spanish conquistador Ponce de Leon concluded his travels in the Caribbean, and continued onward to Hispaniola, where he then proceeded to anchor his ship off of the coast of an island we now call Puerto Rico..." Mr. Norwood, a tall, menacing-looking man who kept a yardstick that he used to whap desks close at hand, droned on tiredly.

Gwen, a heavily-Goth student, clad in her typical black top, black miniskirt, black leggings, and black high-heeled boots, continued to peer fixedly at the clock, doing her best to drown out Mr. Norwood's inane lesson for the day.

"...Surprisingly," Mr. Norwood continued, rapping his desk with his long, bony fingers, "...Ponce de Leon's activities for the next several years, basically up until 1502, remain vague and...".

Suddenly, his eyes drifted over to the front-most desk, where Gwen sat, head resting atop the small table, eyes feverishly gazing up at the clock.

Mr. Norwood's lips curled downward into a sour frown.

"Miss Stevenson?" he called, visibly perturbed.

A few heads turned to face Gwen, who continued to pay no attention.

_How long has that minute hand stayed on the big five? _

"Miss Stevenson?" Mr. Norwood yelled once more, his eyes bulging slightly and his face turning pink with fury.

Gwen, however, merely muttered beneath her breath, "Come on, come on..." tapping her pencil against the polished wood of her desk.

Mr. Norwood removed his spectacles and squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.

"Miss _Stevenson?" _he barked, his body trembling with anger.

The students surrounding an oblivious Gwen burst out into laughter.

At the sound of her classmates' jeers, she snapped to attention, her eyes wide with confusion and fear.

"What-?" she breathed, looking around for some explanations.

_Had I been asleep...? _

Gwen nervously looked up at Mr. Norwood, who was massaging his throbbing temples.

"Do my history lessons _bore _you, Miss Stevenson? Are you anxious to _leave?"_ he demanded, his hands clenched into fists.

Gwen frantically tried to think back to how she had handled such a situation with a teacher before; thus, she plastered the absolute sweetest, most innocent smile on her pale face, batting her long eyelashes playfully.

"Oh no, Mr. Norwood! I find Ponce de Leon's excursions to then-uncharted regions of our glorious world fascinating and inspiring. As you can see, I am hanging on every word of your enlightening discussion with us. Who are we but simple, eager students? We do not deserve to be taught by a man of your caliber. You are without a doubt the most capable man I have ever had the pleasure to learn under."

Gwen then thought she heard some snide remark about her being under Mr. Norwood more often than everyone thought; but what did she care? Let them think what they wanted to think, it made no difference.

As long, of course, as she wasn't sent to Miss Lynch once again that week.

Turning to the jockstrap she assumed had thought up the immature piece of commentary, she mouthed, "Piss off, asshole" before turning back to her teacher, smiling her infamous smile.

Mr. Norwood simply smiled artificially himself.

"I'm glad to see that you are so _enthralled_ with World History. Perhaps banging erasers after class will make you even more interested in my teachings? It might even make you rethink what you have to say before you say it."

Turning to face a diagram of Ponce de Leon's first ship that hung atop the map-infested wall, Mr. Norwood paid just as much attention to Gwen as Gwen paid to him for the remainder of the period.

Suddenly, the school bell shrilly rang, and everyone leapt up from their uncomfortable seats.

Gwen, eyeing Mr. Norwood angrily, quickly dashed out through the classroom door while he was rearranging his toupee.

Banging erasers. Ha! Not on her life.

Brushing past a horde of lumbering jocks that were passing a pig-skin football back and forth, Gwen thought she heard Mr. Norwood shout, "Happy Halloween! Oh, and be sure to study for Monday's quiz on Spanish conquistadors of the 15th and 16th centuries..."

"Yeah, I'll be sure to do that."

Making her way down the bustling hall, Gwen gritted her teeth as some hulking idiot rammed into her, sending the textbooks she had pressed against her chest flying everywhere.

Muttering curses beneath her breath, she bent down, and began to reclaim her belongings.

Every so often, a random scumbag would purposely kick one or more of her textbooks out of her reach.

Gwen would then tastefully flash the moron a certain finger before jumping up to uncover her property.

Just as she was bending down to grab the course book, a slender, tan arm swiped it, casually flipping through the picture less pages.

Gwen was just about to utter a string of profanities when she recognized the thief; tall, dark, and supremely gorgeous, there was only one Nathan Matthews.

Nathan was Gwen's age, and one of the few football players that also sported a brain. He had chilling sapphire eyes the color of a wild ocean, and unkempt, light brown hair that seemed to complement his bronzed skin tone.

Gwen felt a hesitant smile creep across her face.

Nathan cocked his head to one side, his eyes shimmering in the faint light of the hallway.

"Why so glum so close to Halloween?" he asked in a smooth, velvety voice.

Gwen did not respond immediately. Instead, memories began to flood her mind, unpleasant memories of Cabbage Nights past, nights during which she could have sworn that she saw "perfect" Nathan egging her house with a group of snickering goons.

The smile rapidly evaporated from her face.

Grabbing her textbook from Nathan's strong hands, she began to make her way down the hall, toward her locker.

"Aren't you a little afraid that your pals will see you talking to some nobody like me?" she asked coldly, shooting an angry glance in Nathan's direction.

Nathan shoved his hands into his pockets, embarrassed.

"Hey, don't be like that; we were great friends last year!"

Gwen snorted rudely.

"That was _before _you made the baseball team."

Nathan raised an eyebrow, irritated.

"Baseball's my _thing, _Gwen...my only chance to make it big."

Gwen, shaking her head, threw open the locker door, and began sorting through its unorganized contents.

"You change pretty fast, then, huh?"

Slamming the door shut, Gwen turned to face a new arrival, an impeccably-beautiful young woman, with sharp emerald eyes and a shock of blonde hair.

Gwen bit her lip in frustration; could her day possibly get _any _worse?

The bubbly girl smiled artificially, clinging onto Nathan's lean arm.

"Hiya, Gwen!" she beamed, her wide mouth full of gleaming white teeth.

Gwen returned the smirk with a slight, visibly-fake grin, and began to turn away when the girl shot out an incredibly-fast hand, clenching Gwen's arm in a death vice.

"Why so blue?" the young woman asked, her tanned face the perfect image of a concerned friend.

Nathan shifted uncomfortably in the background.

"Must've been a rough day." he mumbled beneath his breath.

The girl continued smiling dumbly, her eyes sparkling with blazing green flames. Gwen, however, knew that some intelligence laid behind that searing gaze.

"Let go of my arm, Nicole." she snapped, her faltering voice barely above a whisper.

Nicole Goldman, accustomed to people taking orders from _her, _was taken aback momentarily, her jaw clenched in anger.

Head cheerleader of Clearmont High since her sophomore year, Nicole had had her eye on the main prize, the title of homecoming queen, before she had even taken her first step within the school. Though every vote counted, she knew that one ballot cast against her made no difference.

"By the way," she began, making sure that her voice was loud and clear so that her fellow students roaming the hall could easily hear her, "I just _love _your costume. What is it again?"

Gwen watched as Nicole's eyes morphed into cold, reptilian slits.

"Oh, that's right; the suicidal, Emo freak. Suits you well."

Allowing the remark to sink in, Nicole, proud of herself, folded her smooth arms across her protruding chest, as Nathan quietly objected to such a coarse comment.

Gwen, however, thought up a comeback so quickly that her head began to spin. Eyeing Nicole all over, it did not take Gwen long to notice the violet, minx tail that was partly stuffed down into her enemy's tight pair of jeans; because Halloween was on a Saturday that year, Miss Lynch allowed students to wear their costumes on Friday.

"Oh no, I love _your _costume," Gwen exclaimed. "The feline school slut!"

A few gasps resounded throughout the nearly-desolate hall.

Nicole's face turned a dark shade of red as Gwen continued with her observations, arms gesticulating wildly for emphasis.

"I'd tell you to look out for guys grabbing that tail of yours, but since you already let them grab your ass, it wouldn't do much good."

Nathan could not suppress a slight chuckle as Nicole began to tremble, infuriated.

"What did you say, you little bitch?" she stammered, her voice wavering uncontrollably.

Gwen's slight smile blossomed into a full-fledged grin.

"Losing your hearing, Nikki?"

At that last remark, Nathan felt his insides freeze; _no one, _not even Nicole's closest friend, a fashionista named Chloe, could call her Nikki, a name that she had been stuck with all throughout her childhood years. It was just as shocking as calling Mr. Norwood 'dude'.

It was then that Nathan realized just how enraged his girlfriend of two months was.

Extending her left hand with lightning-fast reflexes, Nicole made a move for Gwen.

Gwen felt the hard sting of the back of Nicole's hand before she realized that she had been slapped across the face.

Tenderly stroking her raw cheek, Gwen watched in fear as Nicole came ever closer, her breathing heavy, and her eyes burning lividly.

"Call me that again," she hissed, her lips curled back into an ugly, evil smirk, "and I swear to _God _ I'll -"...

A firm hand on her shoulder caused Nicole's shrill voice to trail off.

Gwen looked up from the struggling young woman before her, and focused in on the man towering above the three of them.

"Is something the matter over here?" Mr. Norwood asked in his typically deep, menacing voice.

Nathan smiled as genuinely as he could, though he was in fact terrified of the man before him.

"Nothing's the matter, Mr. Norwood; just some high school drama."

Mr. Norwood eyed Nathan suspiciously for a moment before his gaze drifted to Gwen, who was pathetically trying to cover up the handprint now painted across her cheek.

"High school drama that's turned physical?" he boomed, motioning at the inflamed side of Gwen's face.

Nicole suddenly turned a shade paler, her eyes wide with fear. Her expression, however, told Gwen to keep her mouth shut.

"That wouldn't happen to be _your _hand mark, would it, Miss Goldman?"

Gwen looked on in amusement as Nicole desperately tried to elucidate her actions. The explanation was actually quite humorous; apparently Nicole was being followed by "some pervert" throughout the school. For some reason, Gwen had "snuck up on her" and, thinking that she was being attacked, Nicole had slapped Gwen "without realizing that she had in fact slapped the wrong person".

Mr. Norwood, however, was not amused.

"So who was this pervert?" he asked, unconvinced.

Nicole answered the question without a second thought.

"Derek Myers."

Derek was a close friend of Nathan's, and the only African-American student to make the hockey team. He was tall, lean, and always had some remark or some piece of commentary to share. He also had a knack for getting in trouble; so, obviously, he made the perfect scapegoat.

Mr. Norwood frowned, aggravated.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to bring the four of you down to my room for some answers. There's something else going on here, so don't feed me lies about predators and perverts."

Nicole was quick to plaster a sweet, innocent smile across her face.

"I think Derek's gone home already, Mr. Norwood; you'll have to wait until Monday."

Mr. Norwood, still unhappy, began to turn away solemnly. Nicole was quite correct; the punishments would have to be postponed for the weekend.

"Ah, well, it's almost Halloween, anyway. Just be sure that you four are in my classroom as soon as last period ends."

The trio nodded rapidly, waiting until Mr. Norwood had turned the hallway corner before speaking.

Nicole's eyes were like burning pits in the depths of Hell as she turned to Gwen.

"Now look what you've done, you little skank! Our entire Monday afternoon is ruined because we have to rot away in World History 101!"

She glared at Gwen for a moment, her hands clenched into fists.

_"Some_ of us havelives outside of school, you know!"

"You didn't have to drag Derek into this mess in the first place." Nathan mumbled in the background.

Gwen was fast to turn on Nicole as well, her entire body shaking unsteadily.

"Yeah, _you're _the one who shoved that half-ass story down Mr. Norwood's throat! A sex predator? Jesus, how stupid _are _you?"

Nicole would have gladly slapped Gwen a second time had Nathan not intervened.

"Come on, baby, we gotta go," he chimed in as sweetly as he could, caressing Nicole's arm. "We'll be late for the movie if don't hurry."

Gwen raised an eyebrow as Nicole hesitantly took Nathan's outstretched hand.

"Sure you're going to a movie?" she asked, smirking. "Maybe it's just another make-out session at Seven-Eleven; gonna use the tongue tonight, Natey?"

Nathan, ignoring the second question, looked up at Gwen.

"You _are_ going tomorrow, aren't you?"

Gwen frowned, slouching against the lockers.

"What's tomorrow?"

"Didn't you hear? Derek and a few other guys are hosting this big Halloween party down at Crystal Lake. Anyone who's _anyone_ is gonna be there."

Gwen felt a stab of pain strike her in her chest. Why hadn't anyone invited her?

Nicole, soaking up Gwen's visible misery, smiled coldly.

"Is someone a little jealous?" she asked, her face darkening with pleasure.

Gwen stared at the floor, her expression changing from anger to sudden despair.

"I couldn't go anyway, and why would I want to?" she breathed, barely above a whisper.

Nicole once again took on the form of a concerned "friend".

"Oh, but I thought you were into ghouls and ghosts...?"

Gwen looked up from the floor, irritated.

"Oh, and I thought you were into keeping promises; whatever happened to that virginity pledge your parents made you take your junior year?"

Gwen, however, did not get the response she had expected; instead, Nicole simply thrust herself against Nathan, grinning pleasurably.

"I broke it." she whispered seductively as Nathan began to melt beneath her gaze.

Gwen frowned, nauseated by this vulgar show of affection.

"Well, if you two lovebirds are done, can we go home now before Mr. Norwood gets back?"

Nathan gently removed Nicole from his bulging physique.

"Gwen's got a point; this can wait until the party, right? Isn't there a cabin or something in the woods?"

Nicole's blazing eyes temporarily lost their luster.

"Nah, I told Miranda that she and Kevin could use the lodge...it's falling apart, anyway."

Passionately kissing Nathan on his trembling lips, Nicole brushed past Gwen and disappeared from the hallway.

Forcing an awkward smile, Nathan turned to Gwen.

"I guess I'd better be going, too..."

Merely nodding her head, Gwen stepped aside, allowing Nathan to pass; the baseball player, however, continued to stand where he was, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I'm...sorry about that," he said as light-heartedly as he could. "You know how Nicole is sometimes; she's used to getting her own way."

Gwen shrugged her shoulders.

"I was asking for it; I called her a slut, after all..."

Nathan forced a chuckle, wringing his hands as if there was something else he wanted to say.

"You...can come tomorrow night, you know," he breathed, nearly choking on his own words. "If you want to, I mean. After all, she can't _stop _you from living your life."

Gwen felt a slight smile creep across her face as she began to turn away from Nathan.

"You'd be surprised what they're willing to do; they'd just as soon shoot me then let me crash their party."

Nathan hurried after Gwen, panting slightly, tripping over his own feet.

"It's not gonna be such a great party, anyway," he said, trying to be comforting. "You know, the typical high school stuff: booze, drugs..."

Gwen shot Nathan a look of disappointment.

"...Sex." she mumbled beneath her breath.

Nathan smiled faintly.

"Sex." he agreed with a nod of his head.

The two slowly made their way down the hall in silence before Gwen eventually spoke up.

"That's what Nicole is after, right?" she asked, slightly embarrassed. "I mean, she doesn't keep you on a leash for your brains, does she?"

Nathan looked down, ashamed.

"You've summed her up pretty well."

Without warning, Gwen tenderly took Nathan's hand in hers, rubbing his slender, tan fingers.

Nathan suddenly felt something blossom inside of him, but it died away almost as quickly as it was sparked.

Removing his hand, he awkwardly smiled at her, his words jumbled and his voice faltering.

"I think I've gotta get going," he mumbled, his voice barely audible. "See you tomorrow?"

Gwen gazed up at him, frowning.

"You still think I'm going after all that Nicole said...?"

Nathan smiled, his eyes twinkling.

"Just think about it, okay?"

Gwen looked away, smiling herself.

"Maybe." she muttered, trying to suppress a laugh.

Nathan put a strong, comforting hand on her left shoulder.

"There's my girl!" he cheered, turning away to follow Nicole.

Blushing all over, Gwen felt herself backing up against her locker. _Had she just been invited to a Halloween party by Nathan Matthews? _

It was like a date, except for the fact that it _wasn't _a date.

And besides, he already had Nicole Goldman.

_Nicole. _

Innocent, little Nikki.

A light jab from behind made Gwen snap to attention.

Spinning on her heel, she came face-to-face with a relatively short young woman with pale skin, fair hair pulled back into a ponytail, bony cheeks, and archaic glasses. The girl wore a bright, lime green top, and khaki pants that were obviously too short.

She, like Gwen, was not dressed for Halloween.

Gwen hesitantly smiled, her heart racing after her encounter with Nathan.

"Hey, um..." she began before trailing off; _what was the girl's name? Obviously not something memorable... _

The young woman, however, returned the smile with a wide grin.

"I'm Erin," she said helpfully. "You know, the Erin that sits next to you in Science with Mr. Peterman...?"

Gwen stared at the new arrival blankly for a moment before exclaiming, "Erin Benet!"

The girl nodded her head rapidly.

"That's me." she chimed.

The two young women began walking down the hallway, making rather uninteresting conversation.

"I'm really bad with names," Gwen explained as they reached the end of the row of lockers. "Sorry that I didn't remember yours."

Erin shrugged.

"Well, we've only been going to the same school for three years." she said with a slight laugh.

"Good ol' Clearmont High." Gwen added with a smile.

A thousand memories of classes and teachers past flooded her mind as they headed back in the direction in which they came.

"Anyway," continued Erin, "I just wanted to congratulate you for taking a stand against Nicole."

Gwen turned to her, shocked.

"You _heard _us?"

Erin nodded, chuckling.

"It's not like I was listening in on _purpose; _I was helping Miss Drake clean things up after class when I saw Nikki slap you."

Gwen suddenly touched her raw cheek.

"I told her off, didn't I?" she asked, smirking, the pain disappearing from her face.

"Totally." Erin agreed.

They were both silent for a moment, Gwen staring down at the floor, and Erin fiddling with her ponytail.

"Are you...going to the party tomorrow night?" the latter asked suddenly.

Gwen looked up from the floor, contemplating her options.

"I don't know...I was told I _could_ go, but -"

"I wasn't invited, either." Erin quickly murmured.

Gwen nodded solemnly.

"It's sucks, doesn't it?" she muttered, angry at Nicole, angry at the school, angry at the world. "Being unpopular, I mean. Everyone looking down on you just because you don't have as much money, you don't have as many friends..."

"...Because you have more brains than they do." Erin added with a faint smile.

Gwen laughed.

"You always _do_ ace those pop quizzes in Science, don't you?"

Erin shrugged jokingly.

"Guilty as charged."

"Popularity isn't _everything, _anyway." Gwen mumbled knowledgably.

Feeling another long drawn-out period of silence coming on, Erin impulsively asked, "So...what's the deal with you and Nathan Matthews?"

"God, you heard all of _that, _too?" Gwen moaned.

"Well, it sounded like you two were getting cozy...at least your hands were, I mean."

Gwen leaned atop the lockers for support.

"I really don't know what came over me...he's happy with Nicole, and that's that. I've got to accept the facts of the situation."

"It's always nice to slip away from reality and dream...for a little while, I mean." Erin breathed tiredly, closing her eyes.

"It looks like you're about ready to fall asleep yourself." Gwen laughed quietly.

"You still haven't answered my first question," Erin mumbled, suddenly changing the subject. "Are you going to the party or aren't you?"

Gwen looked away for a moment, weighing her options.

"I'll go if you go." she said at last.

Erin's eyes fluttered open.

"I told you already," she muttered sourly, "I wasn't invited."

Gwen shrugged.

"Neither was I," she said with a laugh, hands on her hips, "and I'm still going."

Erin stood thinking for a moment, a slight smile slowly creeping across her face.

_Why the Hell not...?_

"What time?"


	3. Chapter 3

Saturday, October 31st 

The Present

Halloween Night 

The sleek, silver-painted BMW luxury car drove down the winding, debris-covered road that led to Camp Crystal Lake.

Trees, standing like skeletal sentries off to the sides of the path, towered over the vehicle as it deftly avoided a fallen, rotting log that had tumbled out of the surrounding forest.

"Christ-!" Nathan breathed as he swerved his newest birthday gift out of the way.

Nicole, still dressed in her purple minx outfit, shot her boyfriend and personal chauffeur for the night a dirty look.

"That was close..." she mumbled sourly.

The horribly-paved road ahead was as black as the night and littered with disconnected branches of all twisted shapes and sizes. Soggy leaves and crisp leaves alike all drifted down from the nearly-bare trees above, raining down atop the hood of the BMW as it approached the dilapidated front gates of the abandoned campgrounds.

As the vehicle began to slow, Nicole pressed her face against the cool, rain-covered window (there had been horrific downpour that afternoon), and squinted out into the darkness.

Nailed to one of the few trees that was not horribly rotting was a wooden, hand-painted sign that read: _**Camp Crystal Lake - Est. 1935**_.

Surrounded by the bare limbs of the nearby trees, the sign was nearly unreadable beneath the mess of leaves and branches; Nicole, however, had excellent eyesight, and immediately realized that they had reached their destination.

"We're here," she said with a slight smile as she unbuckled herself. "Come on, Natey..."

Nathan, turning off the windshield wipers, asked, "Do you think that Derek has already set up the tables and chairs? They might have been blown away by the wind."

Nicole, exiting the car, shook her head.

"The storm wasn't _that _bad...and besides, I told Mark to have Derek pin down the tablecloths."

Slamming the car door behind her, Nicole carefully examined her new surroundings; desolate, dark, dreary...Camp Crystal Lake was the _perfect _spot for a Halloween party.

In fact, Nicole had been down to the lake numerous times before when she was just a child. Upon hearing the legend of lunatic Jason Voorhees from a classmate, she had begged her parents to enroll her in a summer camp program in the nearby woods, just off of the Crystal Lake property.

The summer had gone by without a fault, and the lake had been nothing but a distant memory since school began that year.

Young Nicole had not been entirely pleased, however; she had wanted to see Jason lurking about the water.

When her older sister, Jennifer, had told her that the Voorhees tales were just told to scare little kids, Nicole had dropped the subject entirely, angry that she had been fooled.

But now, upon returning to the campgrounds, Nicole knew that she had a story herself to tell that would scare the bejeezus out of everyone present.

"Thank you, Jason Voorhees." she murmured as she and Nathan approached the front gates.

The gates were massive, rusting poles of metal sealed off with a twenty-pound lock; a second sign hung from one of the bars, reading: **New Owners Welcome; Inquire at Town Hall. Unauthorized Trespassing Will Not Tolerated**.

Nathan shoved his hands into his jean pockets; he was not dressed for the occasion.

"Unless Derek's got a permit, we gotta find someplace else." he noted upon reading the sign.

Nicole flashed her muscular boyfriend a dazzling smile.

"Bullshit." she breathed, hurrying off to the side of the road.

Nathan's gaze followed her as she grabbed a heavy, fallen branch from out of the wet and scraggily thicket.

"Aw, no, Nicole...you can't -"

Nicole, laughing, raised the tree limb high over her head, and brought it down atop the lock, which immediately buckled beneath the force of the attack, and fell away.

Almost immediately, the gates swung open, creaking and groaning with age.

Nicole, satisfied with herself, dropped the branch and turned back to Nathan.

"Get in," she said as she leapt back into the front seat of the BMW. "Drive us inside the camp."

Nathan hesitantly opened the driver's door, sat down, closed the door, and started the engine.

Within moments, the vehicle, glistening in the moonlight, shot forward and disappeared into the night.

xxx 

Nicole was fiddling with a blanket she brought and Nathan was seated in a grimy lawn chair drinking a Diet Coke when a second car, an outdated forest-green Honda, pulled up to the open gates.

Craning his head for a better view, Nathan watched as Derek Myers, draped in a pitch-black, tattered cloak and wearing an infamous Ghostface mask, leapt down from out of the front, rubbing his gloved hands excitedly. Also from the front came Chloe Carter, Derek's quick-witted girlfriend of six months and Nicole's closest friend.

Nathan could tell that Chloe was clad in a sexy, revealing She-Devil costume as the couple approached.

Her hair dyed a shocking red , she wore blooded-colored, see-through leggings, a scarlet mini-skirt that showed off her dark skin, a tight, crimson button-up shirt that revealed her slim midriff , and high-heeled, bright red boots. In her slender hands was a plastic pitchfork, and two "horns" sprouted from out of her scalp.

"See anything you like?" she asked Nathan playfully.

Nathan immediately turned the color of his female friend's pointed "tail".

Laughing, Chloe brushed past the baseball player and ran to embrace Nicole.

"I love your costume!" the latter squealed.

"Oh, damn, your whiskers are so cute!"

Derek, shaking his masked head, turned to Nathan.

"Why didn't you dress up?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled. "You could have at least thrown on a cape or something."

Nathan shrugged, already bored with the conversation.

"I might've had an old Freddie Krueger mask or something in my closet." he mumbled.

Nathan looked at the ghostly, stark-white mask and warped, gaping latex mouth before him.

"It looks like you're ready to head on down to Woodsboro," he joked, snickering. "God, could you have worn a more clichéd costume? Everyone and their sister is wearing that piece of crap tonight!"

Derek cocked his head to one side, his mask giving him a demonic look.

"Hey, I'm the one who set this entire party up in the first place!" he glowered behind the fake black eyes.

"How'd you and Mark get over the gates, anyway?"

Derek began making his way over to the refreshment table, where Chloe and Nicole were busy setting up plates, utensils, and an orange-and-black checkered bowl full of candy bars and gummy worms.

"We hopped it."

xxx 

Then, from out of the backseat of Derek's car came Mark, a muscular, Filipino teenager and avid football player and his plain, fair-featured girlfriend, Gina.

Chloe immediately waved Gina over to help them with the punch while Nathan and Mark playfully began to punch one another.

Approaching the table, Gina smiled warmly, her straight black hair hanging down past her shoulders and her pale skin barely visible in the moonlight.

"Why did you drag Mark along?" Chloe asked with a half-smile.

Gina gingerly removed a silver flask of alcohol from her inside jacket pocket, pouring its contents into the deep-red punch bowl.

"He's the only one of us who has a fake ID!" she giggled, throwing the empty container aside.

The three girls burst into laughter, thrusting their paper cups into the bowl and chugging the fruity liquid down rapidly.

xxx

Erin Benet, her antiquated coke-bottle glasses drooping down her button nose, slipped her short arms into the sleeves of her partially-torn denim jacket, rearranged her ponytail, raced down the steps of her 15 Maple Avenue house, and quickly shouted "I'll be home by ten" before racing out the oak front door.

A Halloween party...the first party Erin had been invited to since at least third grade, which was, of course, before she had established herself as the class brainiac.

Third grade was when the ship started sinking.

Now, however, life rafts were finally being lowered down into the black waters of her life; now she could board a second, unsinkable vessel, and watch as her old self disappeared beneath the ocean surface.

Erin hated such metaphors, but the sinking ship did sum up her feelings quite well. After all, it had been _ages _since she had last talked to someone (someone who was not just interested in copying her homework) on the phone.

In fact, just that afternoon she had had a rather long, pleasant conversation with Gwen.

Like Erin, Gwen was also a bit nervous about crashing the party down at the lake. While the latter was more concerned about Nicole Goldman and Chloe Carter, Erin had always been the one person to fall for tall tales and rumors.

The idea of a psychopathic mother and her demented son made Erin sick.

Erin's father had been a camper at Crystal Lake the summer Jason Voorhees had disappeared. He had heard stories, horrific stories, of the poor boy struggling in the water. Apparently, no one was around to pull him back out onto land.

The following year, as every local resident of the Crystal Lake area knew, Mrs. Voorhees, completely unhinged after her son's "death" brutally murdered the two counselors who were in charge of watching Jason; at the time of his drowning, they had been off having sex in the woods.

The thought of such gruesome deaths and a young child cut down in his prime easily made Erin regret the lengthy walk it took to reach the desolate campgrounds.

The entire surrounding area, facilities, pools, everything, had been boarded up and left for the roaches and mice that swarmed the camp each year.

Rumors abounded about what the vermin were after; some would go so far as to say that they were in search of the decaying corpses of Jason's past victims.

Erin shuddered as she passed a string of identical houses; the combination of heading towards Crystal Lake and the cold, damp weather made her shiver beneath her heavy jacket.

It would be a long night.

xxx

Gwen sat in her bedroom, delicately defining her face with deep teal eye liner. Though not a big fan of makeup, she enjoyed making herself appear as dark as possible.

Of course, it would not make much of an impression when compared to the sheer blackness of the night.

Halloween.

The single day of the year during which no one could point out her..._unique _form of dress; after all, half the town was dressed as either a witch or a warlock.

Gwen didn't like to say that she could only fit in on October 31st, but it was the truth.

As always, the truth hurt.

As she got up from her chair, Gwen felt a stab of burning pain in her chest.

They'd always hated her, but why?

Why?

She knew why; being different in Clearmont High was like receiving a death sentence - you couldn't change anything about yourself afterwards.

Marked for life as a freak.

Sighing heavily, Gwen smoothed out the creases in her black mini-skirt, her dark hair falling down into her dark eyes.

Moving away from the nightstand, she reached for the doorknob, twisted it to its side, and strolled out into the bare hall.

Her parents were probably downstairs, her father reading the newspaper and worrying about tomorrow's work day and her mother fretting over the unwashed dishes after a dinner of Chicken á la King.

Silently making her way down the steps, Gwen turned at the fork in the hall into the dining room, mumbled something beneath her breath to her mother who was busying herself at the sink, and disappeared out through the front door.

Shoving her hands into her pockets, she briefly admired the moon shining down upon her (it had to be almost full), listening to the crickets chirping in the background.

Once in a while she could distinctly hear the lake frogs croaking, their lonely groans always reaching her ears.

xxx

The night had gone better than expected.

About a dozen other cars had pulled up since the start of the party, and many others had simply walked to the lake from their homes.

Horrifically-loud music blared over the loudspeakers Mark had shoved into the trunk of Derek's car, and balloons that Chloe and Gina had filled floated about, as if swaying in-time to the pounding bass notes.

Derek, still in his Ghostface costume, was over at the refreshments table with Gina, serving punch and chips to Wonder Woman, then Freddy Krueger, and then the Cryptkeeper.

"Hurry up with that salsa." Derek shouted at a frenzied Gina as Count Dracula appeared, demanding chips and dip instead of blood.

As Chloe and Mark headed down to the lake to skip pebbles across the surface, Nicole, meanwhile, beamed happily as Nathan came to sit by her atop a fallen log, carrying two glasses of punch.

"Here, I brought you something to drink." he said as he extended his arm.

Nicole took the paper cup, sipped at its contents gingerly, and threw it aside when she was finished.

Nathan frowned; he hated when people openly littered.

"I brought something for you, too." Nicole said with a bright smile, sifting through a beige duffle bag lying on her lap, a bag that Nathan had not even seen her bring.

Eventually, she brought her hand out of the bag, a clear, plastic container grasped in her slender fingers. Removing the lid, Nicole shoved the rectangular box in Nathan's face.

Nathan cautiously took a crumbling brownie from the open container.

"One for you and one for me." Nicole said, winking.

Hesitantly brining the dessert up to his nose, Nathan pushed it away, a look of disgust painted across his otherwise-handsome face.

"What it this, poison?" he yelped, dropping the brownie down atop the soggy earth.

Nicole pouted her lips at him, yet stuffed the second brownie into her mouth all the same.

"What, don't you like my _baking?" _she muttered, crumbs falling from her soft lips.

Nathan looked up at the young woman seated beside him, his eyes wide.

"You baked _pot brownies?" _he gaped.

Nicole glowered at him, crossing her arms across her chest defiantly.

"Jesus, why don't you just shout it out to everyone here! Maybe you'd like to go run and tell the cops, too?"

Nathan cocked his head to one side, his frown disappearing; he only felt pity for his visibly-upset girlfriend.

"They're criminal, Nicole...how many more did you bake?"

Avoiding the question, she murmured, "It took me _all afternoon _just to whip up the batter..."

"Nicole..." Nathan cooed, frustrated.

"Christ, only those two!" she snapped, her face red, her expression livid. "I try to do something a little special for you, for _us, _and you just screw everything! You could have taken a itty bitty bite..."

"They do drug tests for the minors, baby; are you trying to sabotage my career by getting me hooked on those things?"

At that, Nicole turned on him, barely able to control herself.

"_What _career? You haven't done shit since sophomore year! The clock's ticking away, Natey, and you're not gonna get anywhere unless you friggin' start doing something... _anything! _While you've been waiting for a baseball scholarship, _I've _been waiting for my _boyfriend!" _

Leaping up from the decaying log, Nicole stormed off, her delicate hands clenched into bone-shattering fists.

Closing his eyes, Nathan laid down atop the rotted trunk, wishing that he had never come to party, his temples pounding and his head throbbing.

xxx

It was close to eight-thirty when Erin arrived at the front gates, shifting her weight from one foot to the other nervously.

_This is it..._

Her first party, besides her own birthdays, in nine years.

Yet she wasn't even technically invited, which could pose numerous problems.

Erin had never crashed anyone's party; it was too risky, even during gigantic bashes where no one even knew the person standing beside them. She had always been much too afraid that she'd be recognized as one of the outsiders, one of the ones who didn't belong, who didn't _deserve _to belong.

A firm, pale hand on her left shoulder made her spin around, her eyes wild and her expression frenzied.

Erin came face-to-face with Gwen, who was standing, shivering, directly behind her, the air escaping from her mouth like icy clouds in the cold wetness of the moonlit night.

Erin's look changed suddenly, and her lips twitched into a half-smile.

"I didn't think you would come." she said lightly, barely suppressing a laugh.

Gwen merely shrugged, her hands shoved into her pants pockets in order to keep them safe from frostbite.

"I didn't think I make it here, myself."

She turned her attention to the numerous parked vehicles, some still possessing the "new car smell" which everyone either loved or hated, while some possessed nothing but dents, patches of rust, or visible repairs.

"Might as will head on in." Gwen murmured, her legs trembling from more than just the cold.

She was petrified.

Erin, noticing how anxious her friend of a few hours was, gently took Gwen's arm and interlocked it in her own.

"Come on," she said, beaming. "The night's still young."

Hesitantly, Gwen began to move for the gates, inadvertently dragging Erin along until the latter managed to regain her footing.

Avoiding a pile of soggy, debris-laden leaves, the pair walked onto the campgrounds as casually and as naturally as they could.

It did take long for darting pairs of eyes to recognize the two young women.

Chloe spotted them first, and nearly choked on her sangria.

"Shit." she breathed, crumpling her paper cup and flinging it aside.

Turning away from the gates, she rapidly brushed past hordes of drunken peers until she emerged in a clearing by the refreshments table.

There, pouring herself a glass of spiked punch and shoving potato chips into her petite mouth stood a distressed Nicole, her back to Chloe.

Huffing, Chloe rushed up to the table, and jabbed Nicole once in the shoulder with her slender pointer finger.

Dropping a handful of chips, Nicole turned to her infuriated friend.

"What's wrong?" the former asked between chomps.

Chloe put her hands on her hips.

"They're here." she said with an agitated grunt, her horns and tail giving her a demonic, sinister look.

Nicole, her heart clenching in her chest, spun around to face the gates, and two familiar, yet much-hated, faces popped out at her.

"It's Gwen and that other piece of trash the cat dragged in." Chloe snapped.

Nicole turned a bright shade of red, and Chloe could not tell whether she was enraged or embarrassed.

"First Gwen ruins my entire Monday afternoon with her crap about Derek, and then she and some nobody crash _my _party!" Nicole whined, her arms flailing in protest. "That _bitch!" _

Upon hearing murmurs of her name, Gwen clawed at Erin's arm for support, her eyes dark and tearful with worry.

Erin smiled faintly, and spoke as comfortingly as she could.

"Don't worry about them. Let's just try to enjoy ourselves, okay?"

Reluctantly nodding, Gwen allowed Erin to lead her farther into the crowd, even as heads turned to the pair, eyebrows raised and lips twitching downward into irritated frowns.

Before long, they made their way over to the refreshments table.

Nicole and Chloe were gone; they had vanished the second Gwen had been noticed. Mark and Gina had taken their place, their heads down as they rapidly spooned out punch for Frankenstein's Monster.

"One glass, please." Erin said sweetly, taking a few pretzels in her small, pale hand.

Gina looked up, smiling artificially and batting her long eyelashes.

"Just one?" she asked, her hands suddenly grasping the sides of the punch bowl.

Almost immediately, she brought the basin up, spraying the blood-red liquid at the two party crashers before her.

"Why not the entire bowl?" Gina snickered, a dark smile painted across her otherwise plain face.

"Watch out!" Erin shrieked, extending her arm and pushing Gwen out of the way as the cascade of punch struck the already-damp ground, sending twigs and pebbles flying.

Gina, annoyed, dropped the large, plastic bowl as Derek muttered, "Nice aim."

Suddenly, footsteps and whispering in the distance caused Gwen to take notice of a dark shape rushing toward her.

Nathan appeared out of nowhere, panting heavily, his head spinning dizzily.

"What...the hell happened?" he breathed, his eyes bulging. "I heard shouts..."

Gina put her hands on her hips, pouting and huffing.

"These two nobodies think they can just _ruin_ Nicole's _entire night!_ It's bad enough that Gwen here already got her stuck in detention on Monday."

Nathan shot a dark look at Gina, yet spun around in order to comfort his two embarrassed classmates instead of making a scene.

Erin was shielding her eyes from everyone's gaze, and was slumped wearily up against the table. Gwen stood beside her, sniffling, trying to hold back tears that she feared would come nonetheless.

_Why did Gina __**do **__that? Does she really hate us that much? I haven't even said two words to her all year..._

"Come on, Gwen, don't cry...she didn't get anything on you, did she?"

Gwen looked up at him, her eyes raw, and her expression blank.

"No, I'm fine, really." she mumbled beneath her breath, though her words did not reassure a concerned Nathan.

"Do you mean that?" he asked, wary of her expression.

Erin, turning away from the table and careful to enjoy the scarlet puddle, nudged Gwen in the ribs.

"Maybe we should go," she whispered quietly. "My mom will have a fit if I get anything on this new jacket..."

Gwen surveyed the denim material, which looked like something rejected from the nineties; but who was she to judge her friend's style of dress? Gwen wore nearly the same thing to school every day. It wasn't her place to critique Erin's "fashion".

_That's what it is. Our clothing. Neither of us bothered to dress up; it __**is **__a Halloween party, after all... _

_ Our clothing. _

_ Right. _

_ You keep telling yourself that, Gwen. _

Gwen eyed her miniskirt and noted the beads of red liquid that were dripping down from the loose threads. She had been splashed more than she had thought.

"You're right," she said to Erin at last. "It's for the best...it's not our party, anyway."

The two young women began to turn away from Nathan and Gina, who was busy being congratulated by Chloe as Nicole ran up.

"That _could not _have gone better!" she squealed joyfully, hi-fiving Gina with glee.

"Priceless!" Chloe said with a smile.

Nathan, ignoring the jeers and laughter behind him, hurried to catch up with Gwen and Erin, both of whom were beginning to leave the campgrounds.

"Hey! Come on, you two...stay a while longer!" he called, placing his hand on Gwen's left shoulder.

Gwen squirmed away, her expression dark and somber.

"I don't have time for this..." she breathed tiredly, continuing forward.

Dodging Nathan's other hand, she hastily brushed past him, and began to pull Erin away from the nearby cabin that she was examining.

"It's getting late." she lied through gritted teeth.

Erin nodded in agreement, yet still turned her attention back to Nathan in order to flash him one final smile; he returned her lighthearted gaze with a half-hearted grin.

With a few more steps across the soggy stretch of grass and pebble, the two young women disappeared out through the rusted front gates.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday, November 1st 

The Present 

The sun, a glowing sphere of blazing red, citrus yellow, and eye-popping orange, shone brightly down atop Camp Crystal Lake, turning the dark, murky waters a shimmering pink outlined with vibrant gold. The trees surrounding the shore, swaying gently in the morning breeze, were saturated with dew, their few remaining leaves gently parachuting to the damp forest floor.

It was Sunday.

Act II had officially begun.

All was calm; even the chirping birds seemed to sing out beautiful notes, forming unmatched harmonies that were carried along by the wind.

Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, especially not to the two college students fast asleep within the cabin farthest from the water, nestled securely within the woods, shielded by towering spruces and pines.

The arrival of morning had woken Miranda Cortez almost immediately.

As sunbeams burst through the dust-covered windowpane, the vivacious young woman's mocha-almond eyes had fluttered open, allowing her to fully appreciate the beauty of her surroundings.

The cabin itself left a lot to be desired (Nicole had not promised anything luxurious), yet the tranquility of the forest was the perfect setting for a night of steaming passion.

No, the cabin did indeed repulse her, for she was usually surrounded flawless butlers, spiraling marble staircases, deep maroon velvet curtains, and immaculate facilities; Nicole had said nothing about there only being a dingy outhouse a quarter of a mile deeper into the woods.

Nonetheless, she had survived a night atop a torn mattress with a shredded blanket that did anything but protect her from the cold.

Quite proud of herself, she removed the blanket, brushed away the frayed strands that had stuck onto her bare legs, and readjusted her lace bra, quietly removing some spongy padding from a nearby nightstand.

Shoving the padding down into her bra, she made her way over to what could have been a child's rocking chair at some point in time, and slipped her arms into a bath robe that she placed over the back of the chair.

Smoothing out the creases in the robe, Miranda then turned her attention to her hair, picking up a comb from the nightstand and attempting to comb out the tangles that haunted her each morning.

Grunting in frustration, she threw the comb down, and moved towards the grimy window, peering out at the stretch of fallen leaves and misshaped woodchips that formed a path leading from the cabin to the main campgrounds.

Brushing away a few wisps of her dark coffee hair, Miranda smiled at the gorgeous, peaceful scene before she turned her attention to the young man still lying atop the shared bed.

He was tall and tan, though not visibly for his entire slim body, with the exception of his dark face, was wrapped up in the tattered blanket. The teenager's hair, a dirty-blond in color, continuously fell into his closed eyes as he snored the morning away.

Deciding not to wake the young man with whom she had spent the night, Miranda merely smiled, and began to undress, away from the window, at the foot of the creaking bed.

Covering her bare form with the negligee, she searched a chestnut wardrobe thrust against the far wall for a decent outfit: a pair of tight athletic pants, an equally tight, sleeveless gray T-shirt, and worn running shoes would do just fine.

Time for her morning jog.

A few laps around the lake would be perfect, especially after those handfuls of grease-laden potato chips she had devoured the previous night at the party.

After all, Miranda Cortez was expected to keep a trim physique.

xxx

The searing waves of immense heat seemed to follow Miranda as she sprinted around the water's edge, casting shafts of blinding light upon her perspiring face.

Beads of sweat dripped down from the strands of loose hair that were not held up in a disheveled bun, and her entire form trembled as her legs seemed to harden into blocks of immovable marble.

Why couldn't she jog any farther?

She knew eating those damn chips was a bad idea.

Huffing and wheezing, Miranda scanned her surroundings for a bench or a lone tree trunk.

Camp Crystal Lake was no community park, however.

After recent torrential rain storms the past week, the campgrounds were littered with soggy, decaying debris, mostly logs and disconnected tree branches. Piles of dripping leaves formed walls around the lake's surface, creating a makeshift barrier as silvery fish flopped about the dull, gray water.

Miranda bit her lip in aggravation as she realized that there was no place to sit down and rest.

Thus, she had no choice but to keep going, unless she wanted to return to the cabin, already dripping with sweat; another one or two laps would have to suffice for the morning.

Suddenly sensing a movement from out of the corner of her eye, she snapped to attention, her expression frenzied.

Miranda hastily looked over her shoulder, her brow furrowed with worry; why did she have the feeling that she was being watched?

Unfortunately for the young, naive woman, the dark form peering up at her could not be easily spotted, especially when Miranda had her attention focused on whatever was _behind_ her, and not at whatever was staring fixedly at her from beneath the surface of the lake.

As the sun shone through the bare branches of the skeletal trees, Miranda shook such gruesome thoughts from out of her head, and continued around a wide loop.

The figure cornered Miranda the second she made her final turn.

It all happened so quickly; at first, all she could see was a tidal wave of water cascading from out of the lake, followed by an inaudible screech emitted from a dripping shadow that had appeared out of nowhere.

Miranda was more taken aback in surprise than in terror; the terror would come momentarily.

The form, its distorted face barely visible in the blistering sunlight, lunged out at Miranda, successfully grabbing her left ankle.

Before she could manage to react, Miranda let out a sharp yelp as her attacker forced her down atop the ground, sending vibrantly-colored leaves flying.

The sheer strength of the mute creature was impossible to comprehend; within seconds, Miranda felt herself being dragged off of the jogging trail.

"Get off of me, fucker!" she snapped, her face now a sickening off-purple. Flailing her arms and her one free leg wildly, she began to claw at the damp, dew-covered ground, upturning clumps of dripping grass and breaking one of her manicured nails.

The pain of her shredded finger barely compared to the agony she was experiencing from the form's razor-sharp claws digging into her ankle.

"Ugh!" she moaned, her chin striking a ragged rock that was protruding from the soggy earth.

Crimson liquid spattered from the corners of her mouth, and she realized in sheer, mind-numbing horror that she was choking on her own blood.

Without warning, a new sensation came over the whimpering young woman.

Miranda's eyes began to readjust to the scorching light just as she felt her legs become submerged in icy, bone-chilling water.

_She was being pulled down into the lake. _

"You fucker!" she wailed, her pitiful screams barely perceptible over her mad thrashes and flails.

The battle was a short one, however, and throughout the entire ordeal, Miranda did not manage to obtain a decent look at her ambusher's deformed features.

As her strength began to speedily evaporate, her tone changed into more of a plea: "Oh my God, Kevin, please! _Do something...!" _

And yet nothing could be done, for the figure had already managed to drag her down into the water far enough so that only her head and upper torso were visible.

Uttering a final string of profanities, Miranda felt the hands press down upon her skull before she could even hope to swim to the shore; with a monstrous plop, Miranda's head disappeared beneath the murky water with such finality that even she, in her feeble, teenaged mind, knew that she was dead.

And indeed she was.

Jason had expected some resistance, a few kicks, maybe a handful of punches, but to have his latest victim put up no fight at all?

Pathetic.

Disgraceful.

Scandalous.

That drowned Barbie doll did not deserve to be killed by his glorious hand.

Perhaps the girl's boyfriend would make things more interesting.

xxx

The morning wore on lazily.

Hour turned to hour turned to hour.

By the time Kevin Dixon awoke from his deep slumber, the pulsating sun hung partway across the baby-blue sky.

Groaning tiredly, the slim young man turned over onto his side, but the sunbeams bursting through the cabin window were persistent, shining down upon his face and forcing him up out of bed.

Wearing nothing but a sleeveless muscle shirt and a pair of checkered boxers, he stumbled over to the nightstand in order to retrieve his cell phone.

Flipping open the palm-sized device, Kevin squinted his eyes in order to check the time; it was nearly ten o'clock.

Grunting, he replaced the cell phone back down atop the nightstand, and proceeded to move toward the grime-covered window.

Outside, the world was quiet, the swirling morning mist transforming into heavy slabs of gray fog that hung over the once-placid lake like Death itself.

Nature seemed to hush, as if the reemergence of Crystal Lake's most infamous resident spelled certain doom for those who foolishly decided to trespass upon the blood-soaked campgrounds.

Leaves drifted down from the gnarled trees, spiraling about the air like weathervanes caught in a sudden wind storm.

It did take like for the morning breeze to pick up, propelling pebbles and twigs upward in minute tornados.

Frowning, Nathan turned away from the cold, dreary scene before him; he had thought it would be a gorgeous day.

Damn meteorologists.

Shrugging his shoulders, he suddenly contemplated getting back into bed...

No.

Miranda would return from her jog soon, and they both needed to head back into town.

Maybe a shower would wake him up.

xxx

Throwing open the cabin door after slipping a jacket over his broad frame, Kevin, his large, sockless feet shoved into a pair of mud-covered work boots, hurried out into the silent, mist-enshrouded forest, shivering uncontrollably.

Why had it gotten so cold?

Making sure that he had brought along a change of clothes for after his shower, he continued down the makeshift path, dodging logs and fallen branches at every turn.

The trail was slick with rain (it must have poured last night after the party had ended), and the autumn leaves were soggy and dripping.

Uttering a dozen or so curses, Kevin succeeded in avoiding many of the natural obstacles by heading deeper and deeper into the surrounding woods.

Where were the shower-stalls that Miranda had been talking about earlier? They certainly couldn't be very far from the dilapidated cabin.

Brushing past a line of knobby trees, Kevin, nearly losing his left boot to a protruding root, emerged in a slight clearing. A few hundred yards in front of him, covered in a tangle of writhing vines, stood a row of stalls, their fronts covered by torn yellow tarps.

Kevin, ignoring the numbing sensation that was taking control of his exposed legs, pressed onward, fighting back the vines that threatened to encroach upon his chosen stall.

Pushing away the tarp, Kevin emerged within a cubicle that was barely wide enough to fit his ample frame comfortably. Stepping up upon a low pedestal complete with a hopefully-functioning drain, he began to examine the rusted shower head.

Undressing within the confines of the stall, he carelessly flung his new pair of clothes over the stall's side wall, every so often craning his neck upward to make sure that nothing had taken his ripped jeans or his T-shirt.

After a few minutes of fiddling with the ancient nozzles, thin strands of icy water escaped from overhead, spraying down upon Kevin as he remembered that he left his bar of soap back within the cabin.

Grunting, he leaned back against the wall of the shower stall, allowing the water to wash away the layer of grime that had accumulated on him after he had slept atop such an unsanitary mattress.

Minutes began to fly by like vehicles on an interstate highway.

Moving away from the rough, crumbling wall, Kevin twisted one of the nozzles to the side, and the flow of water slowed, eventually disappearing entirely.

Reaching for the pale blue towel that he had brought along, Kevin dried his muscular body, and partially leaned out through the open tarp, grabbing his jeans and matching shirt.

Slipping the new clothes on, he shoved his feet back into the work boots, and exited the stall, reenergized yet still worried; why hadn't Miranda returned from her jog? Or at least, why hadn't she come looking for _him?_

Maybe she was back at the cabin by now, waiting to take a shower herself.

Kevin, mumbling curses beneath his breath (he needed to get back into town_ sometime _that morning), began the long trek back towards the shared lodge.

Exiting the never-ending stretch of forest, Kevin once again emerged atop the marked trail, following its looping turns and sudden drops until the dim lights of the cabin were clearly visible in the distance.

Quickening his pace, he moved past fallen logs and piles of decaying leaves, and eventually he found himself standing directly in front of the wooden oak door.

Turning the knob forcefully, Kevin felt the mediocre warmth of the cabin wash over him as he entered the one-room wilderness hut.

To his horror, he realized that the cabin was completely deserted, except for a worn teddy bear that Miranda had shoved in with her belongings when they were packing for the romantic weekend.

Breathing heavily, Kevin eyed the cabin for any traces of his vanished girlfriend before hurrying back outside into the woods, just as a light drizzle erupted overhead.

As the pounding rain became steadier and steadier, Kevin jogged away from the cabin, his jacket already slick with water.

Rushing past lines of identical trees, their bare branches swaying in the wind, Kevin felt the thicket around him grow denser and denser until he spotted the lake water shimmering in the near distance.

Quickening his pace, he emerged from the underbrush, his arms scratched and bleeding from the thorns of tall, tangled plants within the forest.

"Miranda?" he called, his voice high-pitched from worry and lack of water. "Miranda, babe, where are you?"

The only response, however, was the ear-splitting shrill of some far-away bird.

Groaning in fear, a new thought suddenly sprung into Kevin's mind; what if she had taken his car and had driven back into town without him?

This idea melted away the second he felt the bronze car keys within his jeans pocket.

Christ.

Where could she be?

Hurrying down the slight incline that led to the rain-spattered shore, he felt his feet finally rest upon even ground; the jogging path.

If Miranda was still in the camp vicinity, she would be here.

The trail was deserted, and all that Kevin managed to notice were handfuls of upturned earth, closer to the water's edge.

Fear blossomed within his chest, and his head began to spin. Swaying unsteadily, he searched feverishly for something to lean against.

The nearest tree he could spot was already taken, however.

The form, a mere shadow beneath the twisting skeletal branches, was slumped up against the rotting wood, its face obscured with darkness.

Kevin squinted his eyes for a better view.

"Miranda?" he asked, unsure. "Is that you...?"

The figure moved away from the tree, and Kevin could tell that it was much too tall and wide-shouldered to be any of the girls he had ever slept with.

Growing concerned, Kevin began to back away, his dirty-blond hair falling into his eyes and obscuring his vision.

The figure moved with such speed, such sheer power, that at first, Kevin was taken aback in amazement, barely able to move.

The shadow was no longer a shadow as it stepped into the blazing sunlight of morning.

Jason Voorhees stood over six feet tall, his unmasked face even more grotesque and misshapen within the proper light, his long, burned legs carrying him over three feet per step.

Kevin felt his insides freeze as the dark figure approached.

"Jesus..." he breathed, his heart pounding frantically as if it were about to pop in an explosion of blood, muscle, and tissue.

Surprisingly, it did not take long for Kevin to realize that his life was in jeopardy; within seconds, he had picked up a fallen branch and was swinging it about threateningly.

Jason approached nonetheless, his charred lungs making his constant breaths sound like deathly wheezing.

Kevin, gritting his teeth, sweat dripping down from his brow, rushed forward, and slashed the branch through the air.

Jason felt the sharp sting of the attack before he was able to understand what was happening.

The branch struck him across the left side of his face, snapping in two as it did so. Warm blood cascaded from the wound, spraying downward onto his shredded clothes.

Jason, screeching wildly, somehow fought back the agony, and lunged for Kevin, his slender, burned fingers wrapping around the frenzied teenager's throat.

Resisting the urge to scream in terror and give in to his attacker, Kevin, cursing profusely, stumbled backwards and brought up his left leg, striking Jason's neck with his knee.

Grunting, Jason fell away, blood continuing to pour from his torn cheek.

Breathing heavily, Kevin sidestepped the moaning form, his head spinning, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes.

_He had nearly been killed... _

Moving away from Jason's trembling body, Kevin suddenly broke out into a mad dash, in the direction of the camp's front gates.

All he had to do was get to his car; Miranda would be there, hiding, waiting for him, and the two of them would hop inside, and they'd drive away. Once Miranda located her cell phone, they would call the police, and they'd flee before the mute psychopath behind them could catch up.

Out of the corner of his eye, Kevin caught a flash of metallic blue.

His Honda Civic.

Thank God he had parked it relatively near the camp, just outside of the gates.

He would make it..._he would make it... _

A few hundred feet; that was all it was, a couple more long leaps across the soggy ground.

Kevin, afraid that he would not locate Miranda's shivering form somewhere in the vicinity of his vehicle, did not happen to notice the lumbering shadow that was encroaching upon him.

Hurrying through the open gates, he ran up to the cobalt Honda, frantically jamming the 'car-open' button with his index finger.

A high-pitched click resounded up and down the desolate path as Kevin reached out his tanned arm to grab the silver door handle.

He could not see Miranda anywhere.

Little did he know, of course, that her waxy body was pinned beneath the surface of the murky lake, wrapped in strands of greenish-brown seaweed, her eyes forever open, staring out at the slippery, silvery fish that darted past her blank, expressionless face every so often.

Momentarily pushing the dead young woman out of his thoughts, Kevin focused on getting inside the car.

Throwing open the door, he leapt atop the driver's seat, and stealthily locked himself within the vehicle's confines.

Breathing heavily, he was just about to reach for the ignition when his heart froze in his muscular chest.

Christ.

_The car keys! _

He had just had them a moment before...

A series of taps coming from outside of the Honda made Kevin snap to attention, beads of sweat trickling down from his drenched brow.

The rapidity of the taps suddenly increased, and Kevin realized that a large shadow had somehow appeared directly on the other side of his window.

Looking up, he saw a very familiar, wheezing form holding something glittery and silver in its hand.

Kevin felt his jaw drop before he heard the window before him shatter inwards, the shadow reaching in through the new opening and clawing around for the teenager's throat.

It did not take Jason Voorhees long to find what he wanted.

A frightfully brief scuffle took place, ending only when a distinct snap echoed from within the Honda.

Kevin slumped forward, his bleeding head striking the steering wheel with a loud thud.

Jason moved away from the eradicated window, turning his attention to the world before him.

Time to make a fresh start.

All was silent at Camp Crystal Lake for the remainder of the morning and into the afternoon.

Of course, Jason was already off in search of a new hunting ground.


	5. Chapter 5

As morning rapidly wore away, Gwen Stevenson awoke from a rather restless sleep atop her much-too-small mattress.

Yawning tiredly, she rubbed her eyes in a pitiful attempt to ward off the sunbeams that were arcing through her window.

Her hair was wild, giving her a frenzied appearance, and her eyes were still raw after her sudden burst of tears the following night.

Upon leaving the party with Erin in shame, the two young women had hurried over to Gwen's house for a consolation sleepover that had ended with them arguing over Nathan and whether he liked Nicole or Gwen, or whether he simply couldn't make up his mind, as Erin believed. "He's confused," she had demanded.

After about an hour or two of constant bickering, Erin had left in a hurry, allowing Gwen to slink into bed and fall asleep before her parents even knew what had taken place at the lake.

What she had believed would be the best night's sleep of her life was, in actuality, hours on end of turning, writhing, and restlessness.

Gwen could get the image of Nicole smirking at her pain out of her throbbing head.

Groaning as the morning sun suddenly blinded her for a moment, Gwen stumbled out of bed, her entire body swaying unsteadily.

What a great start to a new day.

Checking the alarm clock atop her dresser (it was nearly eleven-thirty), she slowly exited the incredibly-cramped room, emerging atop a landing connected to a flight of oak stairs.

Already, Gwen could hear the sounds of _The Today Show _drifting up the steps to her ears.

Sniffling slightly (she had just gotten over a slight cold), she began to trudge down the staircase, her legs like blocks of marble, barely able to support her weakened form.

Upon stepping down from the stairway, Gwen entered a large, almost completely bare room, furnished with a single beige couch and an outdated, much-too-small television, resting atop a low bookshelf.

Her mother, a tall, weary-looking woman in her late fifties, was seated atop the couch, wrapped in a rough, worn bath robe, rapidly sifting through a pile of old newspapers.

Gwen's father, Mr. Stevenson, had no doubt already left to purchase a new gallon of milk and other necessities as he did every Sunday morning.

As Gwen moved into the living room, partially blocking the television screen, her mother looked up, a slight frown of worry painted across her semi-wrinkled face.

"Morning." Gwen whispered, forcing a faint smile.

She and her mother had never been exactly close; Mrs. Stevenson, despite her current, disheveled appearance, had been head cheerleader in high school, the daughter of George Orwell, the brilliant entrepreneur who had turned the area around the fabled Crystal Lake into a major-grossing tourist trap.

Thus, due to her lavish upbringing, Mrs. Stevenson clearly did not approve of Gwen's unique form of dress; in fact, she no doubt regretted marrying into the Stevenson family, for her husband, Jack, though he had been her high school sweetheart when he had been on the football team, was now a down-on-his-luck, unemployed bum that could barely afford to keep their own home. Because of this, Sharon had been forced to take up a part-time job at the local pharmaceutical store, as well as manage her pre-existing hair salon, "Ginger & Spice" on Third Avenue.

Today, however, Sharon Stevenson seemed even more distressed and frenzied, if that were possible.

Sighing heavily, she removed two, visibly-worn newspapers from the sorted pile, and held them out for Gwen to see.

Taking both at once, Gwen quickly skimmed through the headlines:

The first article, depicting a smoking ambulance and a scene of devastated wreckage, read, **"Local Woman and Two Hospital Attendants Killed in Fatal Highway Accident; Officer Missing From Scene of Crime". **

The second, completely taken over by a photograph of a woman's body atop a stretcher, read: **"One of the Last Survivors of the Latest Crystal Lake Massacre Found Dead at Bottom of Staircase; Authorities Have Ruled Out Accidental Death Upon Uncovering Scenes of Struggle Within Victim's Bedroom".**

Gwen felt her entire body shake; Kristen Greenwald, the heroine of the last set of Crystal Lake killings...dead?

And Stevie Parker, the woman who faced off against what could only be described as a supernatural force, dead as well?

Though Gwen was not a fan of unrealistic explanations, the link between the two "accidents" was so apparent, even she, the quiet, soft-spoken Gothic girl, could barely contain her fear.

Mrs. Stevenson did not contain hers, however.

"If any of what these reporters are saying about the Voorhees boy is true, then you and your friends could have been _killed_ last night!" she snapped, livid.

Gwen solemnly shook her head; she had rubbed elbows with Death itself, and had survived part of a night at Camp Crystal Lake all the same...

Previous to her senior year, she had never believed in the undead monster known as Jason Voorhees. Of course, Gwen had been treated to hundreds of amusing tales involving the fabled resident, including many that she had read about in old articles that she had uncovered online.

Gwen, however, dismissed these far-fetched stories with her usual explanation: "Deranged copy-cat killer. Read about them all the time, terrorizing small communities and trying to pass for the genuine thing. Like those Jack the Ripper fanatics."

It was only after news spread of Kristen Greenwald's narrow escape from the campgrounds that she allowed herself to take some interest in this Jason character.

And now, with two of the camp's four survivors dead, Gwen did not know who or what to believe.

"I never approved of my father cashing in on the deaths of so many innocent people," her mother continued. "Our county becoming a hotspot because of some masked madman...disgusting!"

Gwen shrugged, placing the articles down atop the couch.

"It certainly boosted the area's popularity among tourists." she muttered, a bit nauseated herself.

A machete-wielding lunatic?

Please.

Ridiculous legends...

xxx

Erin Benet was jolted awake by a sudden, thunderous vibrating that emanated from her chestnut nightstand.

Snapping to attention, her heart racing, she fumbled for her coke-bottle glasses, slipping them over her beady eyes as she dodged the silvery strands of sunlight that threatened to temporarily blind her.

Clawing about for the cell phone that she had forgotten to turn off the previous night, Erin flipped open the device and read the text message that was plastered inside the screen: **Have u heard about the killings? **

The message was from Gwen, yet Erin had absolutely no idea as to what killings her friend was referring to.

There were too many suspicious deaths around Crystal Lake to keep track of.

Thus, Erin responded, as a joke, with: **Who's dead this time...? **

Chuckling to herself, she placed the cell phone down atop her bed and waited for the vibration.

It came a few moments later.

**We need 2 talk NOW**.

xxx

Nicole Goldman pressed the twistable rod against her lips, and suddenly her entire mouth was alive, outlined in a deep, golden-scarlet, like a bundle of juicy, freshly-picked cherries.

Moving away from the bathroom mirror that sported an elegant chrome finish, she ran her long, slender fingers through her creamy lemon hair, allowing twirling strands to gently fall down into her jewel-like emerald eyes.

Deciding to keep her hair down instead of up in its normal, casual ponytail, Nicole took a moment to admire her surroundings; even the family's upstairs bathroom, with its tiled floor, marble countertop and matching basin, bronzed faucet, and silver bathtub, tucked away into an arch-top niche, complete with a genuine Italian oil painting hanging above, seemed to shout wealth.

A European paradise in a cold, desolate town full of death and misery.

After all, the Goldmans _were_ the royalty of Crystal Lake, and they expected everyone to remember that distinguishing fact.

Lavishness was not an option; it was a lifestyle.

Every portion of the seven acre mansion glowed with extravagance; clearly, the expense of such luxuries was not an issue.

Especially when Steven Goldman was the CEO of _Olympia,_ the fastest-growing employee/product outsourcing corporation in the state.

Exiting the bathroom, Nicole emerged atop a plush, carpeted landing, a flight of spiraling marble steps directly below her socked feet.

Brushing away the silken locks of hair that threatened to obscure her vision, Nicole gracefully made her way downstairs, hands lightly grasping the rail that led down to solid ground.

Upon reaching the bottom of the staircase, she made her way through an alcove, complete with pulled-back maroon curtains, and entered an overly-spacious, overly-furnished living room.

Her father, Steven, sat atop the plush, beige couch, skimming through the latest issue of TIME magazine. Mrs. Cynthia Goldman sat across from her husband atop a second couch, draped in a luxurious scarlet bathrobe, casually adjusting her sleek, silver eyeglasses.

"Good morning, cupcake." Mr. Goldman called, though he was not directly facing his daughter.

Nicole beamed pleasantly, though her head was throbbing; Nathan should have called her by now.

"Morning, Daddy."

Hurrying over to plant a light kiss on both of her parents' faces, she shot a quick glance at the family answering machine.

The red light was blinking spastically.

One, no...two voicemails.

Nathan!

Avoiding a hug from her father, she picked up the receiver and pressed it against her ear, rapidly jabbing at the dull green PLAY button.

An automated voice took over from there.

"Good morning," it chimed mechanically with no feeling, no life. "This is the law office of Binder, Pratt, & Jones. We apologize for calling at this time, but we thought it was appropriate to inform you that your payment for our service to you and your loved ones is past due. Please return this message promptly, at your earliest convenience. We will send out a follow-up reminder at the end of this week. Our number is 212-713-0095. Thank you."

There was a sharp clicking sound, and all was silent was once more.

Nicole rolled her eyes. Her mother had slipped in the produce aisle of the local Whole Foods when no "wet floor" sign was present.

Suddenly, a second voice, a human voice, blared out of the receiver, jovial and raspy.

"Yeah, Steve, my boy, this is Randy down at Oak Bridge Junction. Just wanted to remind ya that we're still on for that poker game Thursday night. The wife'll be outta town for a few hours, so we got the whole place to ourselves. I think I'll call up Frank and David at the office and see if they can stop by for a bit. Ok, I'll leave you and Cynthia alone now; I know how busy you and her are on the weekends. See you tomorrow at work. Oh, and about that project in Cambodia, I think we oughta scratch the entire thing. Frank agrees, but David says Ol' Maxwell will flip. Maybe we can meet for lunch sometime to discuss the shipment to Cairo? You know my number."

The phone clicked again, and Randy's voice disappeared from Nicole's ear.

Cursing beneath her breath, she threw down the receiver, and stormed into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice.

No message from Nathan, no message from Miranda; she was supposed to have called after she and Kevin got back into town...

_Where is everybody? _

xxx

Nathan Matthews, just out of bed, slipped the tattered blue jeans over his bare, shivering legs; it had been a frigid evening.

It would have come as no surprise to him if the small community had experienced its first frost of the year overnight.

Yawning, Nathan stretched lazily, and turned his attention to the cell phone tucked securely away beneath his pillow.

Flipping it open, he was slightly shocked to find that no messages had been stored during the early morning.

Huh.

Not even a single text from Kevin...

xxx

Gwen's heart was pounding in her chest as she shoved her arms through the sleeves of her thick coat, her face as pale as ever.

Clearly, something was wrong.

Masked killers, machetes, two unexplainable murders...what's next?

Shouting a quick "goodbye" to her disapproving mother, she threw open the front door and hurried outside, the bone-chilling wind whipping at her cheeks, leaving them red and raw.

Fighting back the supreme cold, Gwen dashed through her front yard, kicking up hundreds of thousands of dew droplets, spraying her shoes and leaving her pants dripping from the knees down.

She needed to speak with Erin.

Yes, Erin would know what to do, not that there was truly anything to be done.

It all seemed more than coincidental that two women, both survivors of a bloody killing spree, should die a single day apart, and mysteriously, at that.

An ambulance crash? Please.

A fall down a flight of stairs? Ridiculous.

She would have to get to the bottom of it all, though it was really none of her concern.

Gwen, however, did not want to end up like her mother, a poor women no doubt suffering from a type of paranoia, isolating herself from the rest of the world.

Hell, Gwen hungered for adventure.

And she would certainly get the adventure of her life, should she live to tell about it.

xxx

Erin was already waiting for her at the local park, seated atop a rusted jungle gym that looked as if it could collapse at any moment.

Smiling faintly, Erin waved Gwen over as a sudden burst of wind sent the dry, lifeless leaves spiraling up into the air.

"You wanted to talk?" Erin asked as innocently as she could, her entire form trembling.

Gwen raised an eyebrow upon noticing that her friend had come to the meeting spot without a jacket.

It had to be at least forty degrees, and getting ever-colder by the second.

"Yeah, we need to talk." Gwen muttered, her voice hoarse and cracked.

Shoving her pale hand into her coat pocket, she removed a crumpled piece of paper, and threw it to Erin.

Erin, though taken by surprise, caught the makeshift wad, and unfolded the sheet, her eyes twinkling eagerly.

"It's...an old newspaper article..." she breathed, rather disappointed.

"From July." Gwen pointed out solemnly.

"Huh... 'Local woman found dead'?" Erin looked up at her shivering friend. "What does this have to do with us?"

"That picture is of Kristen Greenwald!" Gwen snapped. "You know, the one that got away...?"

Erin's frown evaporated and transformed into a sly smile.

"Oh, come on. You can't expect me to fall for such nonsense! I may be gullible, but..."

Gwen's face was immediately distorted with fury as she lashed out for the article, grabbing into from Erin.

"Hey!" Erin cried, pouting.

"We were at this camp last night!" Gwen explained feverishly. "If I had known that Kristen and Stevie Parker had both been murdered, I never would have gone to that damn party!"

"Stevie Parker...? The woman that died in the ambulance crash?"

Gwen allowed herself to calm down for a moment.

"You see? You've read about it, too. Something's going on at that lake, Erin..."

Erin Benet, not one who enjoyed adventures, jumped off of the jungle gym and hastily began to back away.

"Oh, no... You're not getting me wrapped up in _this _mess, Gwen... I don't want any part of it."

"Why won't you listen to me?" Gwen pleaded, almost pathetically.

Erin rapidly shook her head.

"The place is literally off-limits. You're absolutely right; we shouldn't have trespassed with the others last night. We made a stand, and we were humiliated. End of story."

Gwen rolled her eyes, and reached out for Erin's hand.

"This has nothing to do with last night! All I'm saying is that Kristen and Stevie both met with unexplained deaths, only a matter of days, a matter of hours, in Stevie's case, after they escaped from Crystal Lake."

Erin snorted.

"Escape, huh? 'Escape' is not the word I would use."

"Then how do you explain the killings there?" Gwen asked, defensively.

"_What _killings? They searched the place high-and-low, and they only found two bodies."

Gwen nodded.

"The police found that blonde girl and Sheriff Rowland, yes, but there must have been others!"

Erin shrugged carelessly, yet stopped backing away.

"The poor guy probably fell down the stairs, or something. It happened to Kristen Greenwald, didn't it?"

At this comment, Gwen felt the anger boil her blood yet again.

"He was stabbed _six goddamn times! _He sure as hell didn't fall down any steps."

"Maybe Stevie did him in. Maybe they were having an affair, and he wanted to go back to his wife and kids. Maybe she got pissed and picked up a kitchen knife. Ever think about that?" Erin snapped.

"How can you even _suggest _such a half-ass idea?"

Erin looked up at the frenzied young woman before her, concerned.

"Why are you acting so _hostile? _I can believe whatever I want to believe."

Gwen looked away, visibly distraught.

"You're not believing the _truth." _

Erin sighed heavily and dramatically, pondering whether she ought to leave right then and there.

After a brief silence, Erin spoke timidly and quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I'll go to the lake with you, if you want. I left my jacket there last night, anyway, and my mother wants me to get it back."

Gwen, though against her better judgment, smiled faintly.

"Sure, you can come along."

Erin looked at the watch strapped to her thin wrist; it was nearly noon.

"Let's go, then. It's starting to get late."

xxx

Nicole Goldman paced about her living room, biting her recently-manicured fingernails anxiously, which was certainly not something she would normally do.

Yet this was no ordinary day.

No call, no text message, no e-mail, not even a simple IM.

Of course, Miranda, if she had not yet returned home, had no access to a computer or laptop, but Nathan most certainly did.

It was peculiar, all of it a tad...odd.

It was already the afternoon, and nobody had bothered to check-in with her.

A simple "Hey, we got back from the cabin safely" would have easily sufficed.

Yet there was nothing.

Perhaps Miranda and Kevin had had a better time than expected.

Perhaps Nathan had gone out of town with his family, maybe on a fishing trip to the lake, or something of that kind.

Still, it would be better to just make sure.

Picking up her sleek, silver cell phone, she flipped it open, and rapidly jabbed at the minute number keyboard.

Within seconds, Nicole could hear a faint ringing in the distance.

Ringing and...something else.

A male voice.

"Hello?" Nathan asked, clearing his throat.

A burst of excitement blossomed within Nicole's chest.

"Natey!" she squealed, barely able to contain herself. "Christ, I was so worried about you! You didn't send me any texts, no voicemails..."

Nathan, on the other line, chuckled slightly.

"I was waiting for a call from _you!"_ he laughed.

Nicole took this time to ask the question that had been discomforting her all morning.

"Did Kevin happen to call you at all this morning?"

Nathan blinked his eyes in rapid succession, uneasy.

"That's the weird part about all of this...he said he'd text me after he and Miranda left the cabin. Maybe he forgot...?"

Nicole shook her head.

"I don't think so. Miranda was supposed to leave me a voicemail. My phone hasn't stored anything since last night when Chloe texted me."

"Listen, Nicole, I know you're still peeved after the party last night, but I wouldn't go around getting myself all worried about this, okay? You know how Miranda and Kevin are; it probably just slipped their minds."

Nicole pouted; she had been longing for a more exciting explanation.

"Well I'm heading down to the lake to sort all of this out. Maybe if they've left already the two of us can use the cabin..."

"Nicole, it's only noon..."

Nathan paused suddenly; he wasn't interested in angering his girlfriend after Gwen and Erin's appearance at the party just yesterday evening.

"...But I'll come with you, anyway; Derek wants me to pick up the lawn chairs that he and Mark left by the shore..."


	6. Chapter 6

Gwen and Erin were strolling down the slick, debris-strewn macadam when a loud whirring sound erupted behind them.

Turning, they stared tiredly as the sleek, chrome-like BMW pulled up to them, slowing down to a crawl as its driver recognized the two young women with a start.  
>As the shadowy window lowered, Nathan stuck his head out through the opening.<p>

"What are you two doing out here?" Nathan asked, his concerned eyes sparkling in the afternoon sunlight.

"Who is it...?" Nicole whined from the front seat. "Natey, you're in my way-!"

Gwen looked from Nathan to Nicole, barely able to speak; had they been following her...?

"We just came to pick up..."

"-My jacket," Erin quickly added, smiling nervously. "I-I left it here, after the party..."

"Some party," Nicole snorted. "Natey, who _are _you talking to?"

Ignoring his protesting passenger, Nathan flashed a smile at Gwen.

"Why don't you both hop inside?" he asked, attempting to come across as innocent. "The camp's still a bit farther down the road; I could give you a lift."

"Really, we're fine," Gwen blurted out before Erin had a chance to accept the offer. "We could use the extra exercise..."

"Speak for yourself," Erin said with a smile as she pulled open the car door. "_I'm _not walking the rest of the way!"

Gwen, frowning, hesitantly pulled herself up into the backseat, as well.

"Whatever..." she muttered beneath her breath.

Nicole, upon realizing just who Nathan had invited into the car, felt her insides freeze, and her eyes exploding in an envious emerald-green flame.

"Let me out!" she shrieked hysterically, pounding on the locked door. "Don't keep me trapped in here with _these _losers-!"

Suddenly, she turned to face Gwen, her eyes gleaming angrily.

"You little _bitch, _first you ruin my party and now you're hitchhiking in my boyfriend's car? Can't I _ever _get away from you...?"

Just as Gwen was about to counter with a sly remark, Nathan grabbed Nicole's arm in a sudden, terrified vice.

"Ouch!" she wailed, gritting her teeth. "What's the matter?"

"We've got a problem..." Nathan mumbled, swallowing the lump in his throat.

Erin and Gwen, curious, poked their heads out from the backseat, and squinted their eyes to see a sapphire, cobalt blue Honda , its motor completely dead, in the near distance, slightly off the camp trail, its hood jutting into the surrounding forest.

"Isn't that Kevin's car?" Nicole wondered aloud, leaning forward in her seat for a better view; for a moment, she completely forgot about her disastrous party the previous night. "Oh my God, I think it is..."

The four of them sat in silence for what seemed to be an eternity; what, exactly, was going on at the legendary campsite, with its blood-soaked history and tales of masked, machete-wielding lunatics? What had become of the two young lovers who had disappeared without a trace after spending the night together?

As Nathan knew, there was only one way to find out.

"Come on," he said, taking up a leadership role. "We've got to check this out; they might have gotten into an accident for all we know."

"Do you think one of us should call 9-1-1...?" Erin asked, her face a mask of her worry and fear. "I mean, if someone's been hurt..."

"Miranda and Kevin were supposed to leave _hours _ago," Nicole shrilly pointed out. "_Something _must have kept them here, unless they're both still in that cabin..."

"Those cabins in the woods are off-limits, permit or no permit," Gwen added knowledgably, happy to argue with Nicole. "Those two boneheads would have been caught by now...and no one in their right mind would spend an entire night at Camp Crystal Lake!"

"Well, that's Kevin's car," Nathan said with a sigh. "Obviously they couldn't have gone anywhere without that Honda."

Almost mechanically, he removed his foot from the brake, and began to drive the BMW down the uneven path.

"I hope Miranda didn't forget to pack that sweatshirt I lent her..." Nicole muttered sourly, arms folded across her protruding chest. Then, as almost a second thought, she added, "Ugh, I'm so _sick _of Halloween now...I can't believe I _ever_ fell for any of those stupid ghost stories..."

Gwen was about to mutter, "I'd bet not all of them are _stories"_ but the silvery vehicle, glistening while out of the frigid shade, had already come to a stop beside the seemingly-abandoned Honda.

Opening the car door, Nathan leapt out first, followed by a peeved Nicole, a tired Gwen, and a trembling Erin.

"Oh...where is that stupid jacket?" Erin whined, shivering. "I could have _sworn _I left it here..."

"We'll look for it later," Gwen promised, more interested in the disappearance of Miranda and Kevin than in the disappearance of a hand-me-down.

"Hello?" Nathan called, approaching the Honda and spotting a form seated up in the front. "Kevin, is that you...?"

Without warning, he grabbed the metal handle, and pulled open the surprisingly-unlocked door...

With a loud, horrifying thud, Kevin's bloodied, battered corpse fell out of the driver's seat, landing atop the rocky ground at Nathan's feet.

The next few moments unraveled in slow motion; Nathan, so taken aback by this gruesome discovery, tripped on the limp body and fell himself; Nicole let out an animalistic screech of terror, clawing at her face in fear; Gwen covered her eyes and turned away, her entire body shaking uncontrollably; and a pale Erin fainted, collapsing to the ground like a lead weight.

"Oh my God-! Jesus...Jesus Christ, Kevin!" Nicole wailed, swaying unsteadily, nausea overwhelming her.

Gwen, her head pounding, fell to her knees, unable to stare at the glazed, bloodshot eyes that peered up at her from the ground.

Kevin was dead - that much was obvious; a large gash had formed on the side of his shattered head, and crimson liquid trickled down from this wound, smearing and drying atop his horribly-stained shirt. Broken glass, like shimmering ice, coated his entire torso, and Nathan spotted sharp fragments caught in his friend's mop of hair.

Nathan, though very much horrified, allowed himself a few moments to squeeze his eyes shut and pray before standing to examine the abandoned Honda.

Sniffling ever so slightly, he crossed himself and made his way over to the driver's seat window, noting how it had been broken in, most likely from the outside, and with incredible force.

Blood had been sprayed atop the windshield, and the deep, dark red liquid had also caked upon the steering wheel. Two teeth, impeccably white, lay on the car floor, as if they had been forced out of Kevin's mouth.

Nathan, barely able to control the surge of emotions that were rushing through him like lightning, turned away from the scene of destruction, and bent back down to gently shut Kevin's ever-staring eyes.

"I...I think his neck is broken," Gwen gasped, clutching her heaving chest for support. "L - look at th - the way his head is leaning to the side..."

Nathan, nearly choking, gingerly grabbed Kevin's shredded chin, glancing for some tell-tale signs that shouted a fatal injury; indeed, the bruised neck was especially limp and lifeless, as if it had been snapped in two. It appeared that two hands had been wrapped around the hapless teenager's throat.

"Christ..." Nathan breathed, standing. "Gwen, there are markings all over his neck...like he was _strangled-!" _

Gwen looked from a petrified Nathan to a still-collapsed Erin, and it felt like she was drowning in her own fear.

_This can't be happening...this just can't be happening! If we hadn't gone to that stupid party we never would have come back here... I'm such an idiot; I was begging to get wrapped up in some disaster! _

All of sudden, Gwen lost control over herself; with a maniacal wail, she cried, _"Who's doing all of this?" _

Nathan immediately rushed to her side, his hands covered in Kevin's spilled blood.

"Hey, come on, Gwen, this isn't the time for hysterics," he murmured soothingly, though he was scared to death himself. "Just take a deep breath...we'll be fine."

"I wish we could say the same thing for Kevin!" Nicole snapped in the distance. "Do you think Miranda ended up like this, too? Left for dead in an abandoned camp?"

Nathan shot Nicole a look that told her to shut up.

"We can't jump to conclusions just yet; it's clear enough that Kevin was strangled, his neck broken - that rules out accidental death _and _suicide. We've got to report this to the police..."

"But Miranda is still _missing!" _Nicole cried, livid. "What's keeping me from thinking that she's dead, also?"

"We've got to let the police do their job," Nathan pointed out. "Just standing here and arguing won't do us any good."

"But what are we supposed to do with the body until they arrive?" Gwen asked, nearly choking on her own words; _she _wasn't sharing a car seat with a bleeding corpse, no matter how handsome Kevin had been prior to death.

Nathan frowned; he hadn't factored Kevin's body into the equation at all...

"I'll stay behind with him; he _was_ myfriend, after all." With a sudden motion, Nathan tossed the glittery car keys to Gwen. "You'll have to drive to the station; Erin's out cold and Nicole's likely to crash my car."

Gwen, startled, caught the keys, and watched in solemn silence as Nathan bent down and sat beside his deceased teammate.

_This is unreal...absolutely unreal - how did I get into this mess-? _

On the verge of hyperventilating, she stumbled over to the waiting vehicle, its engine purring patiently; as she opened the car door, Erin awoke with a jolt, her brow wet with perspiration.

"Oh, oh-!" she groaned, her eyes wide and fearful, giving her the appearance of a terrified puppy. "Gwen, _what's going on?" _

"Come on," Gwen breathed heavily, helping Erin to her feet. "We've got to get to the police station."

xxx

Derek Myers, groaning tiredly, traipsed down the flight of oak stairs that led to the family's spacious yet cozy living room. Already, his mother was off in the kitchen, whisking a chrome bowl of freshly-cracked eggs.

"Morning, sweetie," she called with a smile as soon as she heard her son leap off of the bottom stair. "Did you sleep well?"

Derek, still tired after a restless night, grunted an inaudible answer, plopping himself down atop a broken-in couch, eager for breakfast. Grabbing the nearby remote control, he began to flip through the hundreds of television channels at his fingertips.

Pouring Derek a glass of bright, citrusy orange juice, Mrs. Myers added, "Just don't forget you've got hockey practice in the school auditorium this afternoon. From there we've got to head over to Aunt Cindy's for dinner, so I want the coach to excuse you about fifteen minutes early."

Once again, Derek merely shrugged; though he hated missing parts of practices (especially when he had to go visit his aunt instead), he was arguably the best player on the team - they really only needed him for major games.

Yawning, he leaned back atop the couch, and nearly drifted away into sleep.

xxx

Mark, unlike Derek, was wide awake when he hopped downstairs, ready for expertly-cooked scrambled eggs and toast.

His mother, short and stocky, her glossy black hair pulled back into a tight bun, shuffled into the living room, a large plate in her dainty hands.

"Eat breakfast now, then go with Father for new football cleats, yes?" she asked as Mark grabbed a fork and began to tear into the eggs.

"Yeah, yeah, of course," he grumbled, more focused on his meal; his old cleats were perfectly fine - he hated the feel of a brand-new pair.

Then again, it wasn't _his_ money rapidly going down the drain.

"Game today, yes?" his mother demanded to know. "At school field?"

Mark nodded, a bit frustrated; he had completely forgotten about the day's scrimmage! And he still had that social studies essay to start...

"Yeah, there's a game, but I can miss this one," he pointed out, afraid to meet his mother's suspicious eyes. "You know, there's that really easy essay that I've got to finish -"

Without warning, the peeved Filipino woman before him slapped his head three times in rapid succession.

"Stupid boy!" she growled angrily. "Essay due tomorrow, yes? You supposed to be done with essay by now!"

Suddenly, she began to wag her finger and shake her head.

"Oh no, no, no, no, no; you not miss this game - you learn to manage time better! Sorry, but you going to scrimmage today."

And with that, she disappeared back into the kitchen, hands on her hips.

xxx

Gwen stared tiredly out of the car window as she backed up the BMW and drove it back into town; the skeletal, knobby trees on either side of the path seemed to twist and distort in the strange, dull lighting of the early afternoon.

Already that day, so much had happened; she had argued with her overbearing, relentless mother, and by some sick turn of events, she had uncovered the body of a slaughtered baseball player with a brainiac, a fashion-conscious diva, and a defeated jock by her side.

What else could possibly go wrong? She had never faced Death before - it was such a new, frightening yet fascinating feeling that had washed over her; a perfectly healthy, able-bodied teen cut down in his prime...it was all so horrific.

Sighing, she turned to face Erin (they had shoved a protesting Nicole into the backseat); Erin was even quieter than usually - Gwen could see the streams trickling tears had formed on her friend's pale cheeks.

It had been a terrifying experience, discovering Kevin's body; no one knew how to handle the situation... Run? Scream? Faint, like Erin?

There was no way to know which approach they would have chosen should Nathan not have forced Gwen to drive down to the police station.

But what would be done then? Would the police believe their story-?

It sounded fake enough - two misfit teens and an aspiring socialite claiming to have found the corpse of a classmate in an abandoned Honda right in front of the Camp Crystal Lake gates.

While driving, Gwen attempted to think up each way the police could react; they could laugh heartily (as if death was some sort of a joke to them) and have the desperate trio removed from the station, they could lock the three of them up for telling such a fabricated story, or they could take action, and go to investigate the scene of destruction.

Gwen assumed she'd be laughed at and thrown back into the open streets.

Shaking her head, she turned back to the window, and peered out at the town before her; almost identical houses lined the bare streets, their curtains closed and their windows darkened, as if no one lived in any of them. Every so often, Gwen would spot a young boy or girl frolicking in their respective yards, but aside from the laughing children, the entire town seemed to be deserted.

"Maybe I'm not the only one who believes folk tales..." she grumbled tiredly as she zoomed past an empty public park.

It was as if the entire community had been put on a 'Jason Voorhees alert'.

"How much farther is it?" Nicole whined from the backseat. "I don't want to leave Nathan alone for long when there's some teenager-killing maniac on the lose."

Gwen suddenly felt a pang in her chest - a lunatic. That's what this was. A lunatic...such as a masked monster wielding a machete?

_You've got to get a hold of yourself, Gwen - you're sounding like a psychopath - there's no such thing as Jason Voorhees-! _

At that exact moment, a blue-and-white sign off to the side of the road - **9-1-1 Center/Police Station Next Right**.

A feeling of hope blossomed within Gwen's soul - they had made it!

Pulling into the wide, gravel parking lot, Gwen removed the key from the ignition, leaping out onto the solid earth.

The station, like everything else in the town (excluding Nicole's mansion) resembled a small, crumbling brick square, a hand-painted sign reading POLICE in large letters hanging from off of a weather vane on the building's roof.

A long bench was positioned off to the side of the front door for waiting victims of crime.

As Erin and Nicole also exited the sleek BMW, Gwen hurried for the door, her heart racing - she was losing control.

Pushing her way inside the station, past an overweight secretary on her way to the coffee maker, Gwen ran up to the front desk, rapidly jabbing at a dull silver bell that barely even worked.

The secretary, nearly dropping her coffee cup, waddled back over to the desk, her lips pursed into a sour frown.

"Can I help you?" she asked in a throaty, nasal voice.

"We need to speak with the sheriff right away," Gwen blurted out as Erin and Nicole joined her at the desk. "It's an emergency."

The secretary raised an eyebrow, staring suspiciously at the three young women before her. After a long pause, she reached for her outdated telephone.

"Can I have your names, please?" she mumbled as she punched a two digit number into the phone's key pad.

"Gwen...Stevenson," Gwen answered quickly. "And Erin Benet and Nicole Goldsmith."

The secretary nodded, turning her attention back to the call she was making.

"A Ms. Stevenson, a Ms. Benet, and a Ms. Goldsmith here to see you, sir." she spoke into the receiver.

And with that, she replaced the phone, and looked back up at the shivering trio.

"Sheriff Haskell will be right with you," the secretary droned. "If the three of you would care to take a seat...?"

The woman motioned to three uncomfortable-looking chairs set up against a far wall, a table of ripped, ancient magazines next to them.

Gwen, taking the lead, dragged Erin and Nicole over to the chairs.

"We've got to be smart about this," she breathed so that only the two girls could hear her. "If we act like idiots, they'll never believe us."

Erin nodded her head frantically.

"Unless we get straight to the point, they'll keep us here for questioning all day..."

Suddenly, a tall, lanky man with an olive complexion entered the waiting area from a small, cramped room down the hall from the front desk.

Smiling pleasantly, Sheriff Haskell, the permanent replacement for the deceased Sheriff Rowland, strolled up to three young women.

"What can I do for you ladies this afternoon?" he asked gently, grinning. "I just hope you realize how busy we are the days following Halloween -"

"It's an emergency," Gwen pleaded before Nicole could speak.

Trembling, she turned to look at Erin, who motioned for her to continue.

"We..._we found a body..."_ she breathed, her words coming out jumbled, barely above a whisper.

It didn't take long for Sheriff Haskell's smile to evaporate, as it was rapidly replaced with an expression of concern.

"Where?" he asked soothingly, taking Gwen's shaking arm. "It's very important that you tell me everything you know..."

"At the campgrounds...near Crystal Lake," Gwen gasped, tears streaming down her pale checks. "He was inside his car, right in front of the gates..."

Images of the lake flashed through Sheriff Haskell's mind; he knew perfectly well that the area was off-limits, and anyone caught trespassing could easily be fined hundreds of dollars.

Yet things had grown substantially worse in and around the lake; suspicious deaths, slaughtered pets that had been released from their owners' back yards...it was all so peculiar.

Perhaps this new case would shed some light on the serial killer who was plaguing the town...

But why, exactly, were three perfectly-sane teenage girls snooping around the campgrounds?

"Would you three mind riding down to the crime scene with me?" the sheriff asked. "On the way, you could explain to me just what you were doing down at the lake...and don't worry; one of the other officers will follow behind in your car."

Gwen, Erin, and Nicole all exchanged nervous looks; how would they explain the Halloween party and not get fined or arrested for trespassing themselves...?


	7. Chapter 7

The drive back to Crystal Lake seemed to last for an eternity; with Sheriff Haskell interrogating them and the thought of uncovering Kevin's body for a second time, the trio of teenagers did their best to fend off the bloodcurdling nightmares that threatened to overwhelm them.

"Unless you three starting speakin' up, I'm afraid I'm gonna have to phone your parents and bring you all back down to the station for some _extreme _questioning, maybe even overnight," Sheriff Haskell grumbled threateningly. "We don't take murder cases too lightly in this town, ladies."

"We already _told _you everything we know," Nicole snapped from the backseat, flustered. "Kevin Dixon and Miranda Cortez, two college kids who graduated from our school last year, went over to a cabin at the lake last night. The three of us plus Nathan Matthews, who's waiting for us by the gates, headed down to the camp to look for our friends when they didn't call me this morning. That's when we found Kevin's dead body stuffed inside his car."

To emphasize her terror, she randomly burst into tears and collapsed atop a petrified Erin.

Sheriff Haskell nodded solemnly; it all seemed to check out - a few concerned friends searching for their lost pals in the woods...when would kids learn that Camp Crystal Lake wasn't the ideal spot for a romantic night?

"I want you all to get out of the car with me," he mumbled, shutting off the blaring sirens as they approached the campgrounds. "I need to make sure nothing was taken or moved from the scene."

Gwen, exasperated, leaned back in her seat; when her mother found out about what she had been through that afternoon, she'd be sent away to a reform school, without a doubt.

_Things just keep going from bad to worse... _

Violently massaging her temples, she turned to Erin, who had squeezed her beady eyes shut...Gwen sighed heavily; if she hadn't been so damn curious about Kristen Greenwald and Stevie Parker, none of this would have happened...

It was all her fault...that stupid appearance at the Halloween party had ruined _everything... _

Clearly, of course, it was a little too late to back out now; she was up to her neck in suspense, which was what she had wanted, after all...

But now three people were _dead... _

And where the hell was Miranda?

xxx

Sheriff Haskell looked up from the steering wheel as the patrol car approached a battered, weather-beaten sign reading _**Camp Crystal Lake - Est. 1935 **_in sloppy, almost unreadable letters; the sign, nailed to a rotted tree, was complete with a faded white, painted arrow that directed motorists down a nearby gravel path farther up the uneven road.

Birds squawked and squealed as the police officer performed a sharp turn down the path, jolting Erin out of her mindless daze.

At first the teenager seemed completely disoriented and confused until she realized just where she was; a look of pale, shivering dread painted itself across her worn face.

"Please, no," she protested feebly, gingerly pounding at the rain-drenched car windows. "Don't drag me back to that awful place, _please...!" _

Sheriff Haskell ignored the pleas as he drove down the trail, eyeing the identical sign that randomly popped out of the gnarled, scraggly underbrush, indicating the campgrounds just ahead.

He had a job to do, after all...the poor kid's family deserved _some _sort of closure, especially if he had been missing the entire night and into mid-morning.

Then again, those three girls shoved inside the patrol car had gone through quite a bit themselves; he remembered how horrified he was when he saw his kid brother run down by a drunken driver back when he was just a child himself...of course, it only seemed like the blonde one was especially close with the victim; the one in black and one with glasses acted as if they had just been shoved into the middle if this nightmare against their will.

He'd have to get to the bottom of such nonsense somehow...

Sighing, Sheriff Haskell slowed to a stop just as rain began to fall from the overcast skies above - the front gates, a seemingly-empty Honda, and a shivering, tanned teenage boy were only a few hundred feet away in the distance.

Nathan looked up as the patrol car approached, and he breathed a silent breath of relief; thank God Gwen had gotten _someone's _attention...

Almost immediately, Nathan, who had been slumped up against the sapphire-blue vehicle, leapt to his feet, and jogged over to where the police car had stationed itself in a massive puddle of rainwater.

Gwen jumped out of the front seat, tears streaming down her cheeks, and she was just about to embrace Nathan for some support when Nicole brushed past her and began clawing at the baseball player's chest.

"Oh, Natey," she breathed, sobbing, collapsing into his open arms. "Oh, I was so _scared_ without you..."

Nathan gently caressed Nicole's face with strokes of his hand, yet his deep eyes were focused on Gwen, who could only blush and turn away from his gaze shyly.

Erin, sniffling, exited the backseat, and stumbled over to Honda, barely able to look at the decimated windshield, smeared a bronzed red with dried blood.

Sheriff Haskell was the last to exit the patrol car, as he was less than anxious about uncovering the body of a slaughtered all-American athlete, cut down in his prime.

Grunting sourly, he casually strolled across the path, making his way over towards the waiting vehicle, a look of dread in his eyes.

_God have mercy on __**this**__ sad soul... _

Bending down, Sheriff Haskell peered into the Honda, its driver's door wide open; the steering wheel was caked with blood, as was the front seat. Shards of glass, tinted red, fell from the dashboard, and landed near the sheriff's booted feet.

Gradually, his gaze drifted down to the gravel trail, and with a start he spotted the body of Kevin Dixon, collapsed in a contortionist's position atop the pathway; recently-dried blood seemed to cover the body from head-to-toe, as it was absolutely everywhere.

Cautiously, Sheriff Haskell extended a pale hand, and gently prodded at Kevin's neck, noticing the marks around the teenager's throat.

"His neck's broken," the sheriff called out to no one in particular; Nathan was busy comforting Nicole, Gwen was busy pretending _she _was the one being comforted, and Erin seemed to be off in a peculiar daze yet again, for she simply stared blankly off into the distance - she was completely out of it.

Sheriff Haskell then surveyed the body's torso, which was littered with glass debris; suddenly, an idea struck the young man.

Leaping to his feet, the sheriff rushed over to the abandoned Honda, and gingerly rain his finger along the ridged edges of driver's front seat window, which had seemed to explode inward atop the victim...yet couldn't the window have been _forced _open, so all the boy's attacker had to do was stick their arms inside the new opening and snap the helpless kid's neck?

It made sense...no car accident caused _this _death.

All evidence screamed murder, especially the hand prints around Kevin Dixon's neck..._he had been cornered and killed by a madman, no doubt... _

Yet there were so many other questions that needed to be answered; where, for example, was his girlfriend, this Miranda Cortez the blonde one wouldn't shut up about?

Perhaps she, also, had fallen victim to this teenager-killing lunatic.

There was only one way to find out...

xxx

After a surprisingly-brief round of questioning, Erin and Gwen were told they could leave, while Nathan and Nicole were requested to stay and help with the search for Miranda.

The search, however, did not take very long.

Gwen, who had initially wanted to remain with Nathan and help out as best she could, eventually gave in when Erin burst into tears and pleaded to head home.

As the two girls were led away from the campgrounds in a patrol car, its sirens blaring, Nicole and Nathan were brought aside by the sheriff.

"Look, you two," he said as gently as was humanly possible for a typically-stern police officer. "I know you've both been through a lot today, and I promise you we'll get you back home to your parents real soon, but for now it'd be a great help if you could tell us a little more about your friend, Miranda."

Nicole, eyeing Nathan worriedly, immediately began to divulge information.

"Miranda and Kevin were dating for, like, three-and-a-half months before all of this happened," she explained. "Miranda used to be an outcast, because she only just moved here from San Juan two years ago...she had to leave both her parents behind because her dad couldn't leave as he's the CEO of some computer software company, and so now she's living with family friends in the area. Oh, but don't get me wrong; she's filthy rich, and she never lets anyone forget it."

Sheriff Haskell nodded understandingly.

"Is there any way we can contact her family, meaning the people that live around here?" he asked, eyeing Nicole solemnly.

"I think I've got their number stored in my contact list..." she mumbled as she dug through her purse to retrieve her cell phone.

"Can you tell me why the two of them were here last night?" the sheriff continued.

Nathan then took charge, careful not to mention anything about their Halloween party the night before.

"Nicole here pointed out a cabin in the woods were they could, you know, _spend _the night together..."

The sheriff couldn't help but snicker - how typical.

"Maybe she's back at this cabin," Sheriff Haskell suggested. "She might not be in any danger at all..."

Without warning, a police officer who had been strolling around the lake let out a strained yelp - "We've got something over here, Sheriff!"

Sheriff Haskell hadn't expected anything to turn up so soon; in a frenzy, he turned to the two teenagers, telling them to stay where they were as he broke out into a mad dash towards the lake.

"Look just in between that huge clump of algae down towards the bottom of the lake," the police officer breathed in terror, pointing down at the swirling shadows in the water. "I think those plants must have kept her anchored down..."

Sheriff Haskell dropped to his knees, and peered through the masses of greenish-brown lake plants, until he saw what had given the officer to his right such a start.

A pair of glazed, mocha-brown eyes, bloodshot and yellowed, were staring directly up through the lake water at the terrified man.

xxx

Jason Voorhees, like stalking Death, limped through the endless stretch of decaying forest, grunting and wheezing with each step; it was getting late, he knew, and soon a new day would arrive...

The day he extracted his revenge on those foolhardy children who had aroused him from his slumber with their mindless partying.

Two of their own had already felt the sting of his fury, and with luck, many more would fall before his massacre came to an end.

Perhaps one of the partygoers would eventually gain the upper hand over him...

Yet the cat-and-mouse game had just begun, and already two players had been eliminated from the competition.

While Jason was one, they were many...things could quickly, and easily, go wrong.

But Jason Voorhees, the reincarnation of hatred, rage, and Death itself, was not going to allow a handful of immature fools to stop _his_ rampage...

Yes...he'd enjoy killing them.

_All of them. _

xxx

Nicole, on the verge of hysterics, watched in agony as Miranda's lifeless, waxy body was lifted up from out of the water, greenish-brown algae caught in her tangled mess of hair, and delicately placed on a stretcher that was quickly covered up by a stark white sheet.

Nicole, however, had already seen too much; the look on her friend's twisted face was not just of surprise, but of a sick, nauseating fear that had quickly overwhelmed her, clouding her mind and leaving her helpless as she was dragged under the surface of the lake by her unseen assailant.

"I can't believe _any _of this!" Nicole wailed, her chest pounding and thumping in terror. "Why are _we _the ones pulled into this nightmare?"

Suddenly livid, the cheerleader spun around to face Gwen and Erin, who were standing off to the side of the lake, consoling one another.

_"You..."_ Nicole breathed, her eyes burning like emerald flames. _"You _did this, _all _of this! _It's all your FAULT!" _

With an animalistic wail, Nicole dashed forward, racing towards a petrified Gwen.

Taken aback, Gwen could barely defend herself as Nicole clawed at her face with her razor-sharp, recently-manicured nails, almost immediately drawing blood that trickled down Gwen's pale cheeks.

Gwen let out a scream of pain, yet managed to slap Nicole across her face, sending the young woman flying backwards into Sheriff Haskell's arms.

"That's enough, you two," he grunted as Nathan rushed forward to assist.

"They're dead," Nicole whimpered as Nathan pulled her up from the ground. "They're _all _dead..._and we're next..." _

xxx

The rest of the afternoon was uneventful; Nathan, Nicole, Gwen, and Erin answered a few more of Sheriff Haskell's questions, and then the four of them were released back to their families.

So as to keep Nicole and Gwen away from one another, a police officer drove Gwen and Erin home in a cramped patrol car, while Nathan dropped Nicole off in his silver BMW.

"Call me if you need anything," Nathan said soothingly as Nicole leapt from out of the front seat and down onto the smooth pavement of her endless driveway. "I know today was rough...Hell, _beyond _rough...but just know that I'm there for you, baby."

Nicole smiled despite herself, as her tears formed rivers that flowed down the sides of her face.

"I know you are," she whispered quietly as Nathan gave her one final kiss before driving off...after all, he had quite a bit to explain to his _own _parents, as well.

Sighing, Nicole turned away from the desolate street, and made her way down macadam, towards the front door of her family's mansion.

Without warning, that same oak door was thrown open, and Mr. Goldman, his brow furrowed, rushed out onto the lush front lawn in nothing but a bathrobe and slippers, his jaw set and his hands clenched into fists.

"The police just called," he breathed angrily, grabbing a surprised yet protesting Nicole by the arm. "They were rambling on about _two bodies _and how _my _daughter was a witness, or something...!"

Grunting, he forced his daughter inside, slamming the door shut behind him.

"Dammitt, Nicole, now look what you've done! Your mother was worried sick over you, and now we find out you're involved in _two murders? What the hell have you gotten yourself into...?" _

xxx

Erin, Gwen, and Nathan experienced similar problems with their parents; Erin was immediately dragged inside her house by her mother, who kept ranting on about what an idiot her daughter was, and how she'd get herself killed one day.

Gwen, after hours of being screamed at, retreated upstairs to her bedroom, where her tears eventually lulled her to sleep.

Nathan, like Gwen, also stormed upstairs, locking himself in his room, and immediately pulling out his cell phone in order to text his friends who weren't present at the lake.

They needed to know the _truth _before lies appeared in the evening paper.

xxx

Derek Myers, busy shoveling down an early dinner of roast chicken, buttered corn, and macaroni and cheese, felt the vibration of his cell phone in his pants pocket, yet didn't bother reaching for it, as he was busy eating.

_Must be Nathan, _Derek mused as the vibrating died down to a whisper as the frantic text message was stored away in some digital folder.

Oh, well...he could read it later.

After hockey practice, that was.

xxx

Mark also received a similar message from Nathan, reading: **Mark, rly bad situation w/ Kev and Miranda - meet me at the park after supper - WE NEED 2 TALK. **

The vibration from his phone, however, was almost enough to lull Mark out of his afternoon nap.

Almost.

xxx

Nathan threw his phone down in anger after ten minutes had passed without a response from either Derek or Mark.

What could they be doing that was so _important? _

He'd have to try again later.

xxx

It wasn't long before Jason Voorhees, bleeding and battered, emerged from the thicket of the woods surrounding Camp Crystal Lake, stumbling out onto the main road that led back towards the unprotected town.

His grotesque features somewhat shielded by the rays of sunlight that burst through the canopy of dead tree branches tangled into one mess of limps above, he limped out of the shadows, surveying the world around.

A world ripe for the picking.

Suddenly, footsteps in the near distance made Jason snap to attention, his slit-like eyes narrowing in anger.

Someone was coming.

xxx

Sheriff Haskell strolled down the gravel trail, hands shoved into his pockets, whistling quietly to himself.

It had been a long day...

Now he got to look forward to returning to the station in order to fill out a proper report for his superiors.

The "perfect" end to a "perfect" afternoon.

Sighing almost contentedly, he realized how wonderful an idea it was to take a quick stroll around the camp before heading back...the slow-paced walk had been so relaxing...

What with the reports that needed to be filed, the blaring sirens, the endless phone calls...Sheriff Haskell needed _some _sort of a break, even if that break was only a nice, leisurely walk.

Hell, it beat spending time questioning those idiot kids...

Sheriff Haskell was so preoccupied with his own comfort to notice the shadow that had enveloped him, shading him from the blazing sun.

Not even the sound of off-beat footsteps, as if one foot was being dragged while the other moved properly, was enough to jolt the sheriff from his sudden afternoon daze.

As the sounds grew nearer, even unaware Sheriff Haskell managed to pick up the unpleasant stench of lake water mixed with rotted flesh...

And was that a distant wheezing he heard?

With a start, he began to spin around, his hand instinctively reaching for his holstered revolver just as a rapidly-brandished hatchet was swung in his direction, striking him across the face and embedding itself in the side of his skull.

Emitting a choked yelp, Sheriff Haskell's entire body immediately went limp, slumping forward and eventually collapsing to the ground, sending gravel pebbles flying up into the air.

Before Jason even had time to gloat over this most recent murder, a pool of blood began to form around the sheriff's spilt-open head, his widened eyes forever staring out into the open.

Jason, completely unfeeling, removed the bloodied hatchet from the dead man's skull, and with unbelievable force, he kicked the corpse so hard that it rolled back into the underbrush, completely out of sight.

With an inaudible sound that could have been a demonic laugh, Jason turned away from the scene of destruction, and continued down the trail, ready to spill even more innocent blood.


	8. Chapter 8

The sun was on the verge of setting when Jason Voorhees, stalking along the main road, concealed in the forest shadows, made his way across the quiet town, making sure to avoid the few cars and tourists that zoomed by his hiding spots.

Late afternoon was a dangerous time to be hunting, Jason knew.

Anyone could spot him out in the open.

Blood-stained hatchet still in hand, Jason limped through the bare streets, quickening his pace whenever he risked being seen.

After what seemed to be hours of lurching around, Jason, wheezing heavily, came to a stop outside his newest target, soon to be filled to the brim with potential victims:

Clearmont High.

xxx

The evening sky seemed to turn from a pale pink to a deep, bronzed orange as Derek Myers, in his hockey uniform, complete with knee pads, elbow pads, hockey stick, and, of course, the always-recognizable mask riddled with breathing holes, leapt from his mother's battered SUV, waved her a quick goodbye, and trudged into the high school gymnasium, completely unaware that he was being watched intensely by a shadowy figure hidden behind a large, leafless oak tree in the distance.

Grunting tiredly, Derek made his way inside the high school, hardly ready for a strenuous, time-consuming practice.

He hated how everyone depended on him to win the team's games...popularity _did _have its cons, despite how Derek relished in being the school's star athlete, only matched by the likes of Nathan and Mark, both of whom excelled at their own sports.

Yet hockey was Derek's game, just like baseball was Nathan's and football was Mark's.

Yawning, he trudged down the empty hallways that made up Clearmont High, turning corners and opening heavy wooden doors until he entered the spacious gymnasium, where most of his team had already gathered.

It would be a long night.

xxx

As silent as the night, Jason Voorhees emerged from behind the bare oak tree, his grotesque, twisted features partially obscured by the evening sun.

With a sudden movement, Jason brought a gloved hand up to his face, delicately touching the patches of burned, rotted flesh that only accentuated his demented look.

Cringing despite himself, Jason could only think how angry he had been when he lost his previous hockey mask to the late Stevie Parker, who was now six or seven feet underground.

Yes...perhaps a _new_ mask would completehis get-up...

xxx

Gwen, her eyes burning and her throat raw, shoved her iPod earphones into her ears, raising the hand-held device's volume to full-power in an attempt to force the horrific, terrifying thoughts that were plaguing her out of her mind.

Sighing tiredly, she stared out her window, watching as the sun seemed to melt behind the bare trees that stood tall facing the sky, embedded in the soggy, green-and-brown earth.

When would the nightmare end...?

Closing her stinging eyes, her iPod falling out of her hands, Gwen allowed herself to lay back atop her pillow and fall asleep...

xxx

Nathan wearily turned his attention towards his silent cell phone, flipping it open and staring intently at the time - 6:04.

Why hadn't anyone responded to his frantic message...?

xxx

Nicole looked from her screaming father to her crying mother, and then to her pink, jewel-encrusted watch; it was getting late.

xxx

Erin stared at the evening paper her mother had shoved in her face, its black, bolded headline reading: **Two trespassing teens found dead at local, off-limits lake and surrounding campgrounds - have the killing sprees started again? Authorities haven't disclosed any information except for the fact that four **_**other**_** teens, one the daughter of Steven Goldman, CEO of **_**Olympia **_**and local celebrity, are somehow involved in this gruesome case. More information can be found on L-3 - our hearts go out to the families of the victims... **

Erin felt her insides freeze - the story was already spreading around the town!

She'd never live any of this horror down...

xxx

"Myers!" the coach of Clearmont High's hockey team shouted across the gymnasium, his face red and darkened with frustration. "Your mom wants you outside and in the car stat! You're excused for the rest of the practice tonight."

All eyes turned to watch as Derek, defeated, trudged into the men's locker room, embarrassed beyond imagination.

_Stupid Aunt Cindy... _

xxx

Mark was busy frantically scribbling down ideas for his essay due the following day when his fuming mother dragged him downstairs to get ready for football practice.

"Quick! Quick! Game in forty minutes, yes? And essay still not done?"

Mark grumbled an angry response beneath his breath as he escaped into the bathroom in order to change.

The short, stout Filipino woman shook her head as she banged on the door.

"Stupid boy! You not do proper work! No proper work, none, none, none! Stupid, stupid, lazy boy...!"

xxx

As he was busy wiping the sweat from his brow in front of a dust-covered mirror, Derek did not notice the locker room door open ever so gradually, a dark shadow seeping in through the ever-growing opening, enveloping Derek as he bent down to wash his hands.

_Why do we always have to go over to Aunt Cindy's for dinner on Sundays...? She hates my guts, anyway, and I hate hers... _

Muttering a string of curse words and other profanities, Derek swung around to grab a paper towel for his dripping hands.

Something, however, stood in his way, as Derek only managed to grab a torn shirt sleeve, covered in still-drying blood that tinted Derek's recently-washed hands a pale red.

Taken aback, Derek focused his attention on the wheezing form before him, its monstrous face obscured by the dim lighting of the locker room.

Barely able to speak, Derek stumbled backwards into the hard, rough sink, its double faucets still running, frigid water pouring over the sides of the basin, and trickling down onto the tiled floor.

"C-c-coach...?" Derek stuttered, attempting to take another step back, but only succeeding in ramming his hip into the piping beneath the sink.

Temporarily blinded by the pain of this sudden injury, Derek, gritting his teeth, leaned his weight down atop the sink as the shadow took this opportunity to charge forward, grabbing Derek by his shoulders and forcing him down.

Taken by surprise, Derek barely had time to resist or struggle before his skull crashed down upon the sink, disorienting him and rendering him almost unconscious.

The shadow, relentless, attacked the helpless teen once more, grabbing Derek by his hair and tearing at his scalp.

Too petrified to scream, Derek gasped as blood began to trickle down from his brow, spilling into his eyes and blinding him.

Jason Voorhees watched as Derek feebly struggled, kicking his legs and slashing his arms in a pathetic attempt to escape from his inevitable death.

Rapidly growing tired with the needless torture, Jason decided to end things right then and there, and Derek, though he could barely see through the flowing blood, clearly saw a sharpened knitting needle being pulled out from his attacker's pocket.

Jason took a moment to correctly position the needle in his gloved hand, so as to unsure a proper killing blow.

"Please..." Derek breathed, his watering eyes widening in terror, his heart racing, his head throbbing. _"Please..." _

Jason cocked his head to one side, enjoying how even an all-star athlete could be reduced to a whimpering, pleading coward.

With a sudden grunt, he thrust the needle into the side of Derek's neck so forcefully that the hockey star nearly collapsed to ground.

Derek's jaw dropped, his world nothing but a black void, spinning in and out of focus.

The bright blood that trickled from the wound suddenly began to cascade down onto Derek's uniform, eventually spilling onto the floor as Derek struggled to breath.

Clawing at the needle that was protruding from out of his neck like a strange growth, Derek felt his mouth fill with blood, the crimson liquid pouring down from his lips like a waterfall.

Jason, satisfied, stepped back and admired his work as Derek's body began to contort as if it were performing some sort of Death dance before its final moments.

Derek, fighting back the pain that threatened to paralyze him, suddenly began to move, his legs trembling and his chest heaving.

_He was trying to escape. _

Jason leapt forward in order to block the only exit from the locker room, but he quickly realized that he had no reason to be concerned; Derek immediately slipped on the puddles of blood that had been diluted with water, and, rather abruptly, he fell to the ground, his arms and legs spread out, giving him the appearance of a decimated marionette puppet.

Yet the boy was still alive, Jason noted, a bit surprised...

Indeed, Derek's eyes still fluttered open from time to time as a pool of blood began to form around his head.

His lips, too, seemed to part, forming words that he was unable to speak.

Jason knelt down on his knees, watching intently as Derek's body spasmed a final time, his eyes a sickly yellow and his skin waxy and cold...

Following the painful contortion, Derek fell limp, his clenched hands suddenly opening and the sound of his chocked breathing gradually disappearing from the locker room.

Jason stared at the body for minute more before leaping to his feet, and rummaging through Derek's gym bag.

With a shout of joy, Jason pulled the stark-white hockey mask out from hiding beneath a rolled-up sweatshirt.

_The prize... _


	9. Chapter 9

Gina, her smooth, black-as-night hair pulled back into a bun, and her slim form covered in an old, torn sweatshirt, stared at the dinner plate of pulled chicken, broiled yams, and the side of an overdone vegetable medley in disgust, her lips pursed and her faint eyebrows raised.

Her mother, noting her daughter's discomfiture, asked sharply, "Something wrong with your meal?"

Gina, however, was not the least bit concerned with the less-than appetizing spread before her; something else was clawing at her heart and making her uneasy.

Yes, that was it - her stunt at the Halloween party!

How could she have actually been so _obnoxious...? _

Still, that thing with the punch got a few laughs out of everyone...and the look on Gwen's face was priceless!

Gina chuckled despite herself as she poked at the steaming chicken before her; she just _loved _being evil!

Without warning, her mother's shrill voice echoed from out of the kitchen - "Gina! Hurry up with your food! Mark's game begins in a half-an-hour, yes?"

_Oh, shit...I almost forgot! _

Stuffing a spoonful of yams into her petite mouth, Gina quickly began to devour her meal rather ferociously; she needed to get to the field a good ten minutes early to practice her cheer, and she still had to change!

xxx

Mark jogged across the field, sweat from his brow trickling down into his eyes and stinging them.

Grunting curses beneath his breath, he hurried over to a tall, imposing man that stood next to a dilapidated concession stand, a silver, high-pitched whistle in his mouth.

Coach Callaway was not the sort of person you could describe as 'compassionate', 'sympathetic,', 'caring'...

No - in fact, the forty year old man, who had been balding seemingly since birth, had quite a reputation in the small, dreary little hamlet Mark and his family called home; known for his aggressive, controversial coaching methods, Harold Callaway was the living embodiment of rage, competitiveness, and fury.

And now he would no doubt have Mark's head.

"Ten minutes late," Coach Callaway muttered as Mark approached, panting - he had run all the way from the parking lot.

"Sorry, Coach," the teenager breathed, football mask and gloves in hand. "It won't happen again, I promise - I-I just fell a little behind on my schoolwork..."

The middle-aged man merely chuckled, frightening Mark - he had _never _even heard his coach giggle.

"Then I guess you'd better start managing your time better, huh?" he snapped, his eyes narrowing.

Mark gulped.

"I'll try, Sir..."

"'Try', 'try' - is that all you lousy ingrates know how to say?" Coach Callaway mocked. "Do you even _realize _how much time I take out of my weeks to ensure that our team is _remotely _comparable to the other regional squads? How do you expect us to win a _single _game if our star player misses nearly half of our practices?"

Mark smiled despite himself - the coach had just called him their _star player! _

"I'll make it a mission to be here on time next practice, Coach," Mark boomed, filled with pride and confidence. "I can handle my school responsibilities too, so don't worry about that."

Coach Callaway grinned slightly, and patted Mark on the shoulder.

"You're sweet little mother has a right to be proud of you, son," he beamed. "The main thing is, you've got to keep thinking about the team - it's not about you, it's not about me, Hell, it's not even about our opponents! It's all about the _team._ Remember that, boy."

Mark nodded as he dashed out onto the field, shoving the helmet over his head.

"I will, Coach."

xxx

Later that evening, Gwen was roused out of her sleep by a soft hand gently prodding her.

"Wha - ?" she mumbled, barely able to keep her heavy eyelids from closing shut over her weary pupils.

Struggling to adjust to the moonlight that was shining in through the windows of her bedroom, Gwen squinted once or twice before the image of her mother came into focus.

"Mom...?" she breathed, her voice hoarse.

The woman before her smiled slightly, brushing the hair from out of Gwen's eyes.

"Hey, sweetie," Mrs. Stevenson whispered, stroking her daughter's pale hand. "Mind if I sit down with you for a minute?"

Gwen blinked her eyes several times in an attempt to lull herself from out of her terror-induced nap.

"No - sit," she said, propping herself up. "I could use some company."

Mrs. Stevenson, smoothing out the cresses in her bathrobe, took a seat atop the plush bed, staring intently at Gwen, her eyes filled with worry.

"You know you can tell me _anything, _Gwen," she began, cocking her head to one side. "Whatever happened today - whatever you and your friends got involved in - you can tell me."

Gwen, her lack of sleep taking its toll on her personality, struggled to smile.

_Don't you understand? It's all too complicated to explain..._

Kristen Greenwald, Stevie Parker, Kevin Dixon, Miranda Cortez...how could her mother _possibly _understand how deep Gwen was in a situation involving a slew of murders?

"I...I really don't know where to start..." Gwen mumbled, rubbing her eyes.

Mrs. Stevenson, however, was persistent.

"Start from the _beginning."_ she prodded.

_The beginning...what's the beginning? How can I even hope to - _

"That officer who drove you home - Sheriff Haskell, I believe - said that you and a few others stumbled across...b - bodies at the lake," her mother said, interrupting Gwen's thoughts. "Gwen...I-I don't even know what to _say..._how did this _happen?" _

For the first time in what seemed like eons, Gwen found herself at a loss for words.

Her voice cracking as if she had a severe case of strep throat, she muttered, "Mom...it...it was an _accident..._we...Erin and I, I mean...we bumped into Nathan and Nicole on the way to the lake...we wouldn't have said anything, but Erin had left her coat there after the party..."

Gwen suddenly froze, her jaw dropping - _she had said too much! _

Mrs. Stevenson, too, had caught her daughter's slip.

"Party? What party?" she demanded, livid. "Is _that _where you snuck out to last night? Gwen, why on earth - ?"

At that moment, the bedroom door opened, and Mr. Stevenson, a short, tired-looking man with glasses and a receding hair line, stuck his head out through the opening.

"Dearest," he whispered to his wife, "Maybe it would be better if we both talk with Gwen tomorrow - I think she needs some sleep."

As was to be expected, Mr. Stevenson _did _have quite a bit of trouble dragging his wife back downstairs, but once she was finally left alone, Gwen found herself unable to fall back asleep.

_"You can tell me anything Gwen - you know you can tell me anything..." _

But what _could _she tell?

Could she tell her family that an insane predator was on her trail, willing to kill anyone that got in his way?

And what could the others do but lie, also?

_They were in too deep _- Gwen could see that now.

It was meant to be an adventure - an exciting way to start their final school year together.

But already two of their classmates were dead, struck down by a faceless killer that was seemingly capable of exterminating them all.

But how - _why? _

Why them? Because they had seen too much, because they had uncovered some secret?

_The party - _of course! It all traced back to _the party! _

_They had been trespassing...trespassing in Camp Crystal Lake... _

And now someone wanted to make them pay the price.

Someone...

_Jason. _

xxx

Gina, her straight black hair flowing in the light autumn breeze, hurried across the parking lot's uneven macadam in the direction of the football field.

In the distance, she could see the other Clearmont High cheerleaders prepping for the upcoming game.

She hoped she wasn't _too _late.

xxx

Chloe, as Nicole led the remainder of the high school girls in their cheer, slipped her sleek cell phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and frowning in frustration.

No message from Derek.

_Weird... _

xxx

Nicole sighed tiredly as one of the cheerleaders collapsed to the ground after attempting a somersault.

_Idiots. _

_Why can't everyone be as perfect as me? _

Grunting, she pushed the freshmen girl aside, and executed a perfect cartwheel, her tanned legs twisting and turning like skilled acrobats in the air.

Upon landing, she straightened her back and stood with her arms gracefully spread out, giving her the appearance of an elegant ballet dancer.

Instinctively, the other cheerleaders (excluding Chloe, who was busy with her phone) clapped, shouting out praises at their squad captain.

Nicole smiled - it felt good to be loved.

But, honestly, who _didn't _love the soon-to-be-crowned Homecoming Queen?

Well, her parents, for one.

She had been lucky to have been _allowed _to attend the game, after that pathetic tantrum her mother had pulled after receiving a phone call from the Sheriff's department.

Miranda and Kevin's deaths had rocked Nicole's life - in one short day, she had gone from being the apple of her parents' eyes to being their whipping post.

She did, however, have a responsibility to her cheerleader squad, so she had run out the door the second her father cracked and gave in to her wish.

Now it was almost 7:30, and the football game, the fourth of the season, was about to begin.

Nicole looked over at Chloe - the poor girl was in love, and her good-for-nothing boyfriend hadn't even bothered to respond to her frantic messages.

_Stupid Derek... Chloe can do so much better... _

Yawning, she turned her attention to what was _really _eating away at her.

Nicole hadn't said a word about Miranda or Kevin to anyone - the evening papers had already been printed, anyway, so they'd all find out sooner or later.

_How could anything like this ever have happened...? _

It had been such a shock to see one of her closest friends being dragged out of the murky lake, her body cold and waxy and her eyes cloudy and yellowed.

And then there was Kevin, his head smashed against his own steering wheel, his neck snapped...

Nicole shuddered at the thought - she'd probably need therapy in a matter of weeks, after the horror _truly _set in.

She'd never see either of them again...

Shaking her head in an attempt to rid herself of such awful thoughts, she turned her attention back to her squad.

They had a new cheer to learn.

xxx

Nathan's eyes fluttered open as a loud crash echoed from downstairs - his mother must have dropped a pot in the kitchen or something.

_Damn...just as I fell asleep. _

Sighing, he propped himself up in bed, his bloodshot eyes staring at the clock on his nightstand - 7:35.

The football game was already underway.

_Sorry, Mark - I'm not coming tonight_.

It had been such an agonizing day, and Nathan could not imagine being shoved up against some drunken idiot while sitting on the bleachers.

And besides, he had such a _terrible _headache...

_I wonder if Derek's there - he hasn't answered __**any **__of my texts... _

With a lazy yawn, Nathan allowed himself to drift back to sleep.

xxx

Erin, however, had much more trouble relaxing than Nathan.

Restless and afraid, she had curled herself into a fetal position atop her uncomfortable bed, her entire body trembling as if she was locked outside in the dead of winter, chills running up and down her spine.

_Blood...so much blood... _

Unable to get the image of Kevin's battered corpse out of her head, she shoved a pillow over her face as if to smother herself and had cried for what seemed like an eternity.

Now, drained of tears, Erin could do nothing but lie in her room, awaiting the inevitable -

_Whoever killed them knows what we found..._

That one sentence plagued Erin's mind for the entire night, striking her and tormenting her just when she thought she was safe.

How could they escape someone who had already butchered two teenagers in cold blood?

It was madness - sheer madness...

_If I hadn't forgotten that stupid jacket...oh my God, I'm going to __**die **__because of a damn __**jacket! **_

The party - if only she had been smart enough to stay home!

_My parents were right - I should have known better than to just waltz in on some party that I wasn't even invited to... _

_ Why did I let Gwen convince me? Why did I let her drag me there? _

That awful lake - that was where this all started.

And now...that _thing _in the water was free...

Free to kill them all.


	10. Chapter 10

Daylight was nothing but a distant memory as the football game drew to a close.

Down by eighteen points (three touchdowns), the Clearmont Cavaliers had all but given up hope, and for good reason - Bill Blackwood, Lincoln Park High's running-back, and trampled six of their best players a total of forty-something times.

Mark, one of the Cavaliers nearly crushed by Billy the Bull, as he was called, limped off of the field, his left ankle aching and his head throbbing as blood trickled down from a gash on his forehead.

Like the caring, compassionate girlfriend that she was, Gina had hurried over to the bench, handing Mark towels, tissues, and bottles of water.

"This'll stop the bleeding," Gina said, holding a wad of tissues against the wound. "Just stay still - don't wriggle like that!"

_Just what I need - my girlfriend treating me like a baby in front of the guys... _

"I'm fine," Mark grunted, nudging Gina away. "I can take care of myself..."

Gina, however, did not take the hint.

"That Blackwood guy really knocked the crap out of you, huh?" she asked, smirking. "I thought he was going to _kill _you or something - I mean, the way he just pushed you down...the girls in the stands were saying that could _easily _kick your ass in a fistfight!"

At that, Gina burst into laughter, nearly falling backwards into a wooden bench.

Mark was less than amused.

"What are you, stoned?" he snapped, his face turning red with anger. "Your eyes are all bloodshot, and every part of your body is trembling..."

Gina waved the thought away with a flick of her wrist.

"That Ritalin stunt was a onetime thing," she muttered. "And besides - I was suffering from narcolepsy..."

"Yeah, you were _really _suffering from narcolepsy, all right," Mark chuckled. "That's why I found you stealing some out of Ruth Trenton's bag last semester?"

"Well, Ruth Trenton didn't have narcolepsy, either." Gina retorted, offended.

Mark merely laughed - he truly _did_ care for Gina, the kind, mild-mannered Korean-American he had bumped in to during an environmental science lab Junior Year.

_Five months and still going strong... _

Suddenly, a firm, muscular hand crashed down on Mark's shoulder with a slap.

Spinning around, Mark came face-to-face with Coach Callaway, who looked even older and groggier than usual - five straight loses mustn't do good things to a celebrated local hero.

"Hey, Coach." Mark mumbled, smiling nervously.

_Oh, boy - he's gonna be pissed that we lost... _

Coach Calloway, however, responded to the greeting by affectionately patting Mark on the shoulder with his massive hand.

"Not lookin' too good there, son," he grunted, poking at Mark's forehead gash with a beefy finger.

Mark grimaced, as if the Coach's finger was a sharpened knife.

Pulling himself away, the teenage football star asked, "Sorry I couldn't finish the game, Coach - I know the team really fell flat after the refs pulled me out."

As a second thought, Mark added - "Is there anything I can do to help with the clean-up? I could carry some of those bags round back, if you want..."

Coach Callaway looked at down at the three of four bags, each arguably about thirty five pounds, that lay on the ground at his feet.

"Well, since you offered - would you mind taking this bag of jerseys and helmets to the equipment shed at the end of the field?"

Mark smiled slightly as he struggled off of the bench, his legs trembling unsteadily.

"No problem, Coach."

The tall bald man grinned happily.

"It'd be a great help - I'll be back with the other bags in a few minutes..."

He reached for his jacket pocket and pulled out a creased and dented box of Marlboro Lights.

"I gotta light up first."

Mark nodded, grabbing the bag closest to the bench.

Turning to Gina, he whispered, "I'll make this fast, okay?"

Gina merely frowned, unsure of her boyfriend's motives.

"Why are you _doing _this?" she snapped beneath her breath. "Don't waste your time..."

"I owe it to him." Mark shot back as he began to trudge across the green, the bag swung over his shoulder.

As Mark disappeared into the darkness of the night, Gina shook her head in frustration, and strolled back the way she had originally come, in the direction of the parking lot...

She'd wait for him there.

xxx

_Damn - it's pretty freakin' cold tonight... _

Readjusting the stretchable sack that lay on his shoulder, Mark fought against the bitter, crisp wind that blew down from the north, striking him head-on and almost forcing him to head back, his chore uncompleted.

_No - Coach Callaway will eat me eat me as a midnight snack if I don't bring this bag of crap to the equipment shed... _

_ Why the hell did I volunteer, anyway? _

_ Mom was right - I am stupid. I'm a stupid Asian. Christ, that's some contradiction... _

At that moment, a very strong chill shot up and down Mark's spine, turning his insides to blocks of ice, as if someone, _something, _had been breathing down his back...

Allowing the bag to fall from his shoulder, Mark spun on his heel, but met nothing aside from the darkness that had replaced the blazing afternoon sun.

_Huh - I could have sworn... _

Shaking his head, he reached down and grabbed the bag, and began to drag it the rest of the way across the seemingly-endless football field.

Luckily, Coach Callaway had left the field lights on for him, but the reliable sources of illumination did nothing to quell the uneasy feeling in Mark's stomach.

_What's gotten into me? It's a night like any other night this week - it's just a bit colder. _

Colder was right - the temperature must have dropped a good ten or fifteen degrees in the last forty minutes alone.

Continuing to traipse across the turf, Mark felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up like soldiers preparing to go to war as yet another chill rocked his entire body.

_What the hell - ? _

Turning yet again, Mark no longer faced _just _the pitch blackness of night.

This time, standing only a few dozen yards away, was a masked figure, hunched over and wheezing, it's decaying body surprisingly muscular and imposing.

Clasped in the creature's hand was what appeared to be a machete.

Mark felt his heart stop beating for what seemed to be an eternity.

As the bag slipped from out of his grip, he instinctively took a handful of steps back, his body shaking from more than just the cold.

_Jesus Christ - who __**is **__that? _

Mark, as he was not a very curious person, decided not to wait around and find out.

Instead, despite his injury only an hour or so before, he broke out into a mad dash, feeling his way through the darkness, desperate to find the equipment shed before his stalker found _him. _

xxx

Jason Voorhees watched as his prey ran down the field, eventually becoming nothing but a bleak speck in the distance.

It made no difference - no mortal being could hide from Death forever.

They'd all be found, sooner or later.

And Jason didn't expect the avid football player to be such an intelligent hider.

xxx

Gina, flustered, stared down at the watch strapped to her pale wrist, and squinted to read the time in the parking lot's dim lighting -

9:56.

She hoped Mark would be back soon.

xxx

_Yes - yes! I made it! _

With a grunt of joy, Mark reached forward, grabbing the battered golden door knob and turning it with a twist of his wrist.

Almost immediately, the ancient door flew open, and Mark found himself standing within the football equipment shed.

Small in size, it was almost perfectly cubical, with two dusty windows on either wall, and any available space taken by boxes, crates, and sacks full of useless athletic paraphernalia unused since the '70s.

It was less than cozy, of course, but it would have to do, at least until the monsteroutside turned back and went away.

Panting heavily, Mark found himself barely able to breathe - he had never run so fast in his entire life.

Desperate for rest, he piled one sturdy-looking crate atop another and took a seat, directly below the window on the left-side wall.

Just as he felt himself about to doze off, shuffling, off-beat footsteps outside the shed stirred him awake.

More terrified than ever, he leapt off of the crates, and peered out of the window, just in time to see a figure draped in torn, blood-soaked clothing limping towards the shed.

A horrified yelp emitted from Mark's clenching throat as the teenager began throwing boxes against the old creaking door, frantic to keep the moaning creature outside.

Within a matter of moments, however, Mark realized that his efforts at saving himself were all in vain.

With the whack of a machete, the door crumbled and blew away, and Mark felt the cold wind of night force its way inside the shed, blasting him back against the far wall.

There, standing where the door should have been, was Jason Voorhees, his grotesque, twisted features hidden by Derek's hockey mask.

For many moments, Mark found himself unable to speak - the only sounds that penetrated his ears were the distant howling of the wind and Jason's hoarse wheezing.

It was clear that Mark would have stayed frozen in place if it had not been for Jason sidestepping the eradicated door and making his way farther into the shed.

Feeling around in the darkness for something to use as a weapon, Mark's hand struck what could only be an unopened paint can.

Grabbing the metal container by its base, Mark flung the can with his muscular arms, and watched as Jason was struck across the side of his face, disorienting him and knocking him off balance.

Using every precious second to his advantage, Mark first tried to escape the shed by brushing past his attacker; upon noting that Jason was still blocking the doorframe, Mark turned his attention to the two windows that were just big enough for him to squeeze himself through.

Just as he began to maneuver his way past the dust-coated boxes, Jason sprung to life, swinging his machete through the air, yet only striking haphazardly-stacked crates and sacks, sending shredded wood everywhere.

_Jesus - ! I've got to get out of here... _

Mark, though unable to see very much in the dimly-lit shed, made his way across the shack's floor, where he bumped into a work bench that sat below the right wall's window.

Clambering up on the bench, Mark bent backwards and shot out his left leg, which struck the window.

Instantaneously, the window exploded beneath the force of the kick, and shattered glass fell down atop Mark as he began to scramble out through the opening.

_I'm gonna make it... Hell, I'm gonna make it - ! _

Mark could feel the crisp night air as his head, neck, shoulders, and upper torso popped out from the destroyed window.

_I taught that son-of-a-bitch who's boss! _

Jason, dazed and bemused, struggled to his feet, and discovered that he had dropped his machete after being attacked by the paint can.

Quickly realizing that his prey was escaping, he decided to forget the weapon for the time being, and instead feverishly hunted for a new one.

The pair of rusted gardening shears that lay propped up against the farthest wall would have to do.

Screeching inaudibly, Jason grabbed the hedge clippers, and dashed over to the window, just as Mark was about slip out into the night and run off.

The next few moments unraveled in what seemed to be slow motion.

Upon plunging the twin blades into Mark's backside, Jason took his time savoring the kill, and after a good fifteen seconds of listening to his victim's piercing screams of agony, he removed the shears and stabbed the teenager a second time, the clippers embedding themselves in Mark's flesh.

Mark, bright red blood now sprayed across his t-shirt and pants, blinked his eyes in astonishment as the realization that he was dying overwhelmed him.

He wanted to cry - and he did.

The pain was extraordinary.

As the life drained out of his battered, bloodied body, he felt himself slip from the window, crashing back down atop the work bench and lying there while his attacker searched for the lost machete.

Staring up at the cobweb-infested ceiling, Mark opened his mouth to speak, but his clenching throat could emit no words.

His left arm was broken from the fall, he knew, as it was currently pinned beneath the overturned bench, but he felt hardly anything.

Rather strangely, he was at peace...

In under a minute, the boy was dead.

Jason didn't bother taking time to reflect on the football player's murder - he just needed to uncover his machete.

As moonlight began to shine through the decimated window, giving the equipment shed a rather supernatural glow, Jason kicked aside a row of paint cans and located his trusty blade hidden in a tangle of spider webs.

At that moment, the sound of a person whistling somewhere in the distance caused Jason to snap to attention.

Peering out of the left wall's window just as Mark had done only minutes before, Jason spotted a man - a bald man - walking across the football field, with three large sacks being dragged behind him.

With the speed of a tiger, Jason grabbed Mark by his ankles, dragging him away from the window, and stashing the body away in a dusty corner.

After a few seconds of rummaging through old cardboard boxes, Jason found a frayed blue tarp that he wrapped around the corpse, giving it the appearance of a rolled-up rug.

When the gruesome chore was complete, Jason slipped into the shadows of the shed and stood waiting for his _new _prey...

xxx

Gina looked up from her recently-manicured nails, her eyes wide and her face pale, standing alone in the deserted parking lot.

_Had she just heard a scream...? _

xxx

Coach Harold Callaway braced himself against the cold as he approached the equipment shed, three heavy bags containing jerseys, helmets, chest guards, and shoulder pads in tow.

Whistling to pass the time, he stopped only when he nearly tripped over the sack Mark had dropped while being pursued by Jason.

Grunting, Coach Callaway bent down to retrieve the bag, which he then swung over his shoulder as if it were as light as a feather.

_Damn kid...can't even trust him with a few helmets... _

Now with four bags in his possession, the Coach struggled slightly the rest of the way to the shed, as he felt himself rapidly being turned into a human ice cube.

As Coach Callaway could see the dim lights of the shack shining out through the dust-coated windows ahead, he quickened his pace, eager to warm himself inside.

The sight of the door, literally torn off of its hinges and lying on the ground, made the stocky, muscular man stop dead in his tracks.

"What the hell - ?" he grunted, pursing his lips in disgust. "Is this a joke...?"

Allowing the sacks to fall from his hands and shoulder, he ran up to the shed, which appeared to be completely empty, aside from an old rolled-up tarp shoved into the farthest corner.

Though seemingly deserted, the entire shed was a scene of destruction - dripping paint cans were spread all across the ground, work benches and chairs lay broken and destroyed, and what could only be blood was seeping through the wooden floor.

Slightly nauseated, and too busy covering his mouth with his hands in horror, Coach Callaway did not notice the dark figure slipping out of the shadows directly behind him...

Until it was too late, of course.

Jason leapt out of hiding, and immediately he dashed forward, grabbing the coach by his shoulders and forcing him backwards.

Completely disoriented, Coach Callaway struggled against his attacker, grunting and cursing all the while, and eventually managed to shove Jason away with his bare hands.

Jason, taken aback, stumbled into the wall while the coach stared at his hands, which were now dripping with lake water.

"Ugh..." he mumbled, watching as the murky liquid dripped down from his fingers.

Dazed and confused, he forgot about his hands for a moment and instead searched for a trowel or something with which to defend himself, just as Jason clambered to his feet, wheezing and moaning angrily.

With a forceful shove, Jason sent the coach flying forward - directly into the shed's faulty circuit breaker.

Screaming, Coach Callaway shot out his wet hands in order to break his fall, which was probably the stupidest and most inane move he had ever made in his entire life.

The resulting explosion was certainly quite a sight.

Bright flashes of sparking yellow, dazzling blue, and blazing white shot through Coach Callaway's body as his agonized screams echoed throughout the shed.

Flames literally seemed to shoot out from the circuit breaker as its victim was slowly and excruciatingly electrocuted.

For a good minute-and-a-half or so, Coach Callaway stood screeching, his entire body being pierced by bursts of electrical energy and fire.

Following a final, long drawn out cry, the man fell backwards, crashing down atop the wooden floor with a thud, his flesh charred a sickening black and his bare scalp aflame.

Jason, content, sidestepped the smoking corpse as the electrical fire created by the destruction of the circuit breaker began to spread across the floor, slowly at first, as if it were a slithering snake, and then gaining momentum as the howling wind outside began to die down.

Dragging the bodies of both Mark and Coach Callaway out of the inferno, Jason watched as the equipment shack seemed to disintegrate, the fire engulfing the wood and instantly scorching it black.

As someone was bound to discover the scene of destruction sooner or later, Jason was quick to flee the football field, disappearing into the surrounding forest with his two latest victims in tow.

xxx

An infuriated Gina was just about to jump inside her car and drive off without Mark when she noticed the scarlet-yellow flames that were shooting up into the night sky.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening in terror.

Shakily rummaging through her snakeskin purse, she pulled out her cell phone, quickly dialing 9-1-1 and almost immediately being put on hold.

"Come on, come on..." she breathed, her nerves getting the better of her.

Before long, she was connected to the fire department.

Sirens blaring in the distance soon followed.


	11. Chapter 11

The sounds of shouts from outside his bedroom window stirred Nathan out of his peaceful slumber.

"What's going on - ?" he grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

Yawning, he struggled out of bed, realizing that with all the commotion outside, he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again until tomorrow.

Just as he began searching for his shoes, his mother, a short, kindly woman with the same crisp, sapphire eyes as her son, opened the bedroom door, sticking her egg-shaped head inside.

That particular night, however, Mrs. Matthews' eyes had seemingly lost their luster, and instead they were filled with worry and fear.

"Mom - " Nathan began, slightly taken aback by his mother's haggard appearance. "What's with all the shouting...?"

"Something's the matter over at your school, Nathan," she breathed, visibly concerned. "All the kids on our street are driving over there to see for themselves."

The idea that someone he knew could be hurt - or worse, _killed _- bombarded Nathan's thoughts, hitting him like a cannonball.

_Oh my God... _

"What happened?" he demanded to know, sprinting over to the window.

Sure enough, dozens of his classmates lined the streets, running up and down the pavement spreading the news of whatever disaster had taken place.

"Well..." Mrs. Matthews began, unsure of where to begin. "Apparently, _someone _fiddled with the school circuit breaker, and the football field shed burst into flames."

Nathan felt a wave of relief wash over his entire body.

"Is that all?" he breathed, sitting back down atop his bed.

As he had closed his eyes, he did not notice the aggrieved look painted across his mother's face.

"No, not exactly... Oh, Natey - they found _blood _in the men's locker room!"

Nathan's eyes fluttered open, his heart clenching in horror.

_Blood. _

"Whose...?" he asked, barely able to speak.

Mrs. Matthews merely shook her head.

"They don't know."

"They...?"

"The fire department," Mrs. Matthews explained. "After containing the fire, they searched the building. Once they found the blood, well - I think someone called the police."

Nathan nodded, his expression stern and serious.

Without warning, he leapt to his feet, and continued his search for his shoes.

"And _where _do you think you're going?" his mother asked, displeased.

Nathan looked up from the floor and stared into the woman's tired eyes.

"I'm heading over to the school - I need to talk to some people."

xxx

Gwen, as she lived relatively close to Clearmont High, could easily spot the fire from her bedroom window, and the sudden sight sent chills down her spine.

_Jesus Christ - it never ends in this God-forsaken town..._

Grabbing her cell phone, she dashed down the stairs that led to the family's living room, shooting off a frantic message to Erin, whose house was situated too out of the way for her, or anyone else in her family, to notice the flames.

**Met me at the FB field in 15 minutes - there's been an accident... **

xxx

Nathan, pulling up to the field in his silver BMW, realized that nearly half of the entire school had to have been present, as what seemed to be hundreds of high school students were being forced back into the parking lot by visibly-frustrated police officers.

Leaping out of his car, Nathan began to maneuver his way through the yelping crowd, struggling to catch a glimpse of the eradicated equipment shed, which was now nothing but a smoking pile of blackened ash.

In the distance, sirens and klaxons blared as a half-dozen or so firefighters were spraying the remaining flames with an industrial-sized hose.

After a number of shoves, kicks, and punches, Nathan managed to make his way to the front of the pack, where he spotted a hysterical Gina talking to the officer in charge.

_Gina...? _

Just as he was about to run up to his distraught peer, a second officer, tall, burly, and armed with both a holstered gun and a nightstick, dashed in front of Nathan to block his path.

"No one's allowed to go near the fire." the man growled, prodding Nathan back into the crowd with his club.

"Hey - ! That girl over there is my _friend..."_ Nathan protested, but his arguing got him nowhere - within the blink of an eye, he was thrust back into the restless horde, unable to get back to his car.

_I hope Gwen and the others are having better luck than me... _

xxx

"Look - I already _told _you what happened!" Gina snapped, her eyes bloodshot and her skin cold - it certainly _was _a frigid night.

The officer standing before her looked up from his notepad, frowning.

"Would you mind going through the events of the evening just once more, Miss? We need to be sure of all the facts, you understand."

Sighing in frustration, Gina recounted how her boyfriend, Mark, had gone off to help the football coach with a few bags after the game. Apparently, all he had to do was drop them off inside the equipment shed, but Gina ended up waiting a good fifteen minutes for him to return until she decided to leave him there. Just as she was about to drive away, she spotted the fire engulfing the shed and, fearing the worst, called 9-1-1.

The officer nodded, satisfied, as Gina's story came to an end.

"It all checks out," he mumbled beneath his breath. "Thank you for your time, Miss, and we'll be sure to update you when we locate your friend - he probably just set the shed on fire, as a joke, or something, and then high-tailed it out of there when he heard the sirens."

"But what am I supposed to tell his _parents?"_ Gina wailed, distraught. "What do you think Mark is, a _pyromaniac? _He doesn't spend his time blowing up stupid old shacks...!"

The officer didn't seem to be the least bit concerned.

"I promise you, Miss, that your boyfriend will turn up in the next few days - he just doesn't want to be caught; it's understandable. But if you find him hiding in your backyard or something, it's your civic duty to turn him over to us."

Gina rolled her eyes angrily.

"Yeah, I'll be _sure _to do that."

Unable to detect Gina's sarcasm, the officer smiled and turned away.

Angry with Mark, with the world, Gina suddenly felt dizzy, her head spinning and her thoughts dark and muddled.

"Oh..." she moaned, losing her balance.

With a terrific plop, Gina collapsed on the ground, nearly striking her head atop the hard macadam.

As the police officers began to swarm Gina's limp body, Nathan slipped out of the crowd, and stealthily made his way over to the school building, which looked ancient and sinister in the shadows of the night.

Passing a group of unobservant firefighters, Nathan sprinted across the black pavement, rounding a sharp turn and emerging at the spacious gym's back door, which was flung open.

To his complete surprise, Nathan found Nicole and Chloe embracing one another in the doorway, while officers with radios in their hands dashed in and out of the gym.

Nathan, fearing the worst, approached the two girls, both of whom looked up as he drew nearer.

"Natey!" Nicole wailed, releasing Chloe and running into her boyfriend's arms.

"What's happening?" Nathan breathed, eager to remove a clinging Nicole from his waist.

"Oh, it's _awful!"_ Nicole sobbed, her eyes raw and her make-up smudged all across her gorgeous face. "The p-police found _blood _in the locker room, Natey...and they think it might be _Derek's..." _

At the sound of her boyfriend's name, Chloe burst into tears, blindly stumbling about for something to hold on to.

"Oh my God... _Oh my God - !" _

Chloe was hysterical, that much was clear - she was clawing at her face, ripping and tearing out her hair, and tears were streaming down her dark cheeks, giving her the appearance of a rabid animal.

Nathan struggled to swallow the lump in his throat.

"What would make them think that?" he asked, his voice chocked and hoarse.

"No one's seen him for _hours_...h-he was supposed to be at hockey practice, and he was...b-but he had to leave early, and w-when his mom came looking for him, he was gone...a-a-all that w-was left was a p-pool of b-blood..." Nicole stammered.

Nathan closed his eyes for a moment, allowing the crisp wind to strike him, both exhilarating him and terrifying him like nothing else could.

_Why didn't I just stay in bed...? _

It was far too late now - he was in deep...

_Too deep. _

Opening his eyes, he moved away from the panic-stricken girls, and slowly made his way inside the brightly-lit gym.

Off to the side, a tired-looking Mrs. Myers, who trembled as if she had just seen a ghost, spoke with the detective the police force and sent to investigate her son's disappearance.

Nathan frowned - Mrs. Myers had always been so alive, so upbeat...now her clothes were soaked with fresh tears, and she looked pained - terribly pained.

_But where the hell could Derek be...? _

The gym was swarming with police officers, and every few seconds, camera lights would snap, temporarily blinding anyone who stood too close.

_It's like a circus in here... _

It wasn't long before one such officer discovered Nathan snooping and forcefully escorted him back outside.

By the time Nathan returned to Nicole and Chloe, he spotted two new additions to the group - Gwen and Erin, both shivering tremendously, suddenly appeared from the direction of the parking lot, making their way towards the gym.

"What are _they _doing here?" Nicole snapped, gritting her teeth ferociously.

Chloe, however, was too distraught to start a fight, and so she muttered, "Nicole, just be cool tonight, okay? We've all been through too much already..."

Gwen smiled faintly as she approached, rubbing her arms in order to protect them from frostbite.

"Hey..." she breathed, struggling to smile.

Motioning over to a silent Erin, she explained, "We heard about the fire, and we thought we'd check it out...to make sure everything was okay, you know."

She shrugged her shoulders rather helplessly, still trying to fight away the cold.

"For all we knew, one of you guys might have been in trouble."

Nicole snorted rudely, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, thanks for the _concern, _sweetie," she snapped. "But I'd be more worried about Derek and Mark."

Upon hearing this, Erin looked up, her face paler than usual.

"What happened to them?" she asked, genuinely concerned.

Nicole pursed her lips into a sour frown.

"No one has seen either of them since this evening - _and _the police think Mark burned down that stupid equipment shed."

Both Gwen and Erin exchanged looks of shock -

_Oh, no... _

_ Jason - ! _

"Is there any proof that Mark lit the shed on fire...?" Erin asked, slightly hesitant.

Chloe, visibly flustered, grumbled, "No - none at all! And that's what I don't get...knowing Mark, he would've screwed up and left evidence _all over _the place."

"But everything inside the shed burned to a crisp," Nathan pointed out. "No evidence would be left for the police to find."

"I can't believe you, Nathan! You're blaming your _best friend _for all of this nonsense...?" Nicole screamed, slapping Nathan's arm.

"There's _got_ to be another explanation." Chloe mumbled matter-of-factly.

While her peers began to argue and shout possible elucidations at one another, Gwen squeezed her eyes shut, pictures of old newspaper clippings penetrating her mind...

**"Local Woman Found Dead..." **

** "Ambulance Crash Claims Three Victims..." **

** "Masked Man Seen Roaming Woods - Authorities Baffled..." **

It all pointed to one man.

No - _one monster. _

Jason Voorhees had been awakened, and now he was exacting his revenge.

Her weariness beginning to take its toll, Gwen turned away from the gym, taking Erin by her arm and calling back over her shoulder, "We've got to get going - let us know how things turn out tomorrow in school, okay?"

The three teens left standing in the cold of the night nodded their heads, refocusing their attention on their missing friends.

When the two girls were out of earshot, Gwen whispered, "This isn't good, Erin - something's _really_ wrong here..."

Erin bobbed her head up and down in agreement.

"I believe you, Gwen - oh, God, I believe you!" she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Tomorrow we've all got to meet up - maybe after school, or during lunch. _We need to make a plan. _Otherwise, we'll be defenseless."

Erin, despite the fact that she still had no jacket and was freezing beyond belief, stopped in her tracks, eyeing Gwen in terror.

"Y-you don't think _he _had something to do w-with M-mark and Derek's d-disappearances, d-do you...?"

Gwen bit her lower lip, a sudden wave of horror washing over her body and drowning her, pulling her down into a pool of despair.

"Well...if they don't show up for first period in the morning, that's a tell-tale sign that something's off."

The two walked along the pitch-black streets in silence for what seemed like an eternity before Erin mumbled, "I don't like this _at all_, Gwen..."

Gwen, dark thoughts of death churning in her mind, could only brace herself against the cold and continue across the endless stretch of pavement that led back home, while Erin turned away to find her car, which was lost somewhere in the horde of curious students.

"Neither do I..."

xxx

As the hours flew by, evening rapidly transformed into night.

About twenty minutes after the moonlight began to shine down upon the parking lot, illuminating everyone and everything, almost all of the students had begun to return home, bored with the fire that had destroyed the decrepit equipment shack...

Before long, it would be morning.

And Death would reign supreme.


	12. Chapter 12

Monday, November 2nd 

The Present

The sun rose on the morning of November 2nd as it did on any other day, signaling that it was time to start anew, to forget the troubles of the recent past, and to look forward to twenty-four hours of new opportunities and a few good laughs with friends.

For the students attending Clearmont High, however, those twenty-four hours would be filled with nothing but murder and bloodshed.

Of course, no one could have anticipated such a massacre, as the people formerly known as Derek Myers, Coach Harold Callaway, and Mark Chang had disappeared from the face of the earth, their mutilated corpses never to be found.

Only Jason Voorhees could predict the slaughter that would soon follow.

xxx

Jason peered through the trees of the forest, watching as sunlight began to seep in between the bare, skeletal branches, casting strange, writhing shadows on the woodchip-littered ground.

Finally - it was morning.

Moving away from the makeshift grave he had dug for his latest string of victims, Jason crept silently across the forest floor, winding around dying trees and keeping himself hidden from the countless number of students that were filing inside the school building in the distance.

Ah.

Fresh blood.

Shivering with anticipation, Jason eyed the children, soaking each and every one of them in, imagining how grand it would be to cut them open like fish.

Oh, it would _certainly _be a day to remember.

xxx

Patricia Lynch, a mug filled with piping-hot coffee in her hands, waddled over to her desk just as the shrill bell above her head began to ring.

As the principal of Clearmont High for fifteen years, Miss Lynch's appearance clearly reflected the amount of time she spent arguing with her students: a rather rotund woman, she seemed to gain more and more weight with each passing semester.

Clearly, her job of choice was stressful.

With druggies, pill-poppers, and promiscuous children spreading diseases from one to another, Miss Lynch certainly had her plate full.

Sighing wearily, she sat atop her worn chair, which creaked and groaned beneath her weight.

Taking a few moments to readjust the steel-gray beehive that sat atop her head, Miss Lynch proceeded to check the school's digital attendance list to see how many students had decided to cut class that day.

To her surprise, only Mark Chang and Derek Myers were not accounted for.

Well, honestly, it didn't come as a _complete _surprise; late last night, she had received a phone call from the police department (which was already busy with the disappearance of Sheriff Haskell) about the two boys listed on her computer screen.

Apparently, they were both somehow connected to the mysterious fire that had destroyed the school's equipment shed the previous night.

Miss Lynch frowned at the thought.

_Hmmm... They both must have a guilty conscious... _

Upon closing the pages on Mark and Derek, Miss Lynch paused for a moment and eventually opened a new tab, typing in the following name in the search box:

GWEN STEVENSON

Gwen had come up in conversation quite a lot recently; she was a loner, a real individual...

A girl who listened to no one.

A girl who _trusted_ no one.

Truly, she was an odd little child.

Mr. Norwood_ always _complained about her.

At that moment, the door to the front office opened, and in walked Miss Lynch's secretary, a spindly middle-aged woman with long, platinum-blonde hair.

Miss Lynch smiled as she approached.

"Good morning, Ethel." she beamed.

The secretary, clearly the fretful, nervous type, rushed over to Miss Lynch's desk, a look of worry in her widened eyes.

"Oh, I'm _so _sorry I'm late, Miss Lynch - I got caught up in all the traffic on the interstate. I had a real _beastly _time trying to find an open parking space, too..."

Miss Lynch carelessly brushed away the woman's worries with a flick of her wrist.

"It's really no problem, I assure you. Oh, but I _am _having some trouble thinking of how to word my speech for tomorrow's special Board of Education meeting on the district's finances..."

"Well, I think I still have your speech from last year packed away back in storage, if you'd like me to fish it out for you."

Miss Lynch pondered the idea for a moment.

_Those drunks on the Board won't even remember one word I spoke... _

"That would be wonderful, Ethel, thank you."

xxx

The morning crawled by rather tiredly.

While Miss Lynch sat at her computer, sipping her coffee, her secretary bustled about in the background, sifting through dozens of boxes, desperately searching for her employer's written speech.

Neither of them noticed, however, the masked face that peered in at them through the office windows.

Jason watched as the two women went about their way, politely chattering with one another and carrying out other such office formalities, including stamping paperwork and hunting for missing files.

Bored with the display, it did not take long for Jason to realize that the only way into the main building was through the front office.

xxx

Miss Lynch did not look up from her computer as the office door creaked open.

"Good morning," she said sweetly, though her gaze did not once wander from the glowing screen before her. "How may I be of assistance to you this fine day...?"

The movement was so fast, so sudden that not even a stealthy tiger would have been able to anticipate the attack.

Jason swung his machete through the air as if it weighed only a fraction of its eighteen pounds, striking Miss Lynch in her neck, and effectively lopping off her head.

Blood spattered everywhere, and within moments, the principal's desk was dripping with the crimson liquid.

Miss Lynch's hands flapped helplessly as her body fell from the swiveling chair, landing atop the carpeted floor with a terrific thud.

Before Jason even had time to savor his latest kill, the female secretary came hurrying out of the storage closet, a yellowed piece of paper in hand.

"Miss Lynch, I've found the -" she began, but she got no further.

At the sight Jason, the woman's skin paled, and a blood-curdling scream tore through her body, rocking her like an earthquake.

"Oh - _**oh my god!"**_ she screeched, clasping her hands over her mouth upon spotting Miss Lynch's corpse lying atop the floor.

Sobbing hysterically, the secretary, barely able to keep her footing, rushed over to her desk, and began to pour out the contents of her overflowing purse, only stopping to grab a canister of what could only be pepper spray, and held it threateningly close to Jason's masked face.

"Sat away…!" she sobbed, her entire body shaking.

Before Jason even had time to react, the women sprayed a cloud of peppery mist in his face, and immediately a shrill scream echoed throughout the office.

Using every precious second to her advantage, the secretary dashed past the desk, and was on her way to the office door when Jason leapt up and lunged at her, grabbing her by her shoulders and immobilizing her.

"Let go of me, you monster!" she shrieked, squirming and writhing in an attempt to free herself.

Jason, however, his red eyes burning, refused to release the woman, merely tightening his grip and digging his fingernails into the woman's flesh.

"Ugh!" she moaned, rapidly losing her energy.

Suddenly, a look of terror filled the woman's eyes.

"Please...p-please d-don't kill me..." she begged, kicking her legs and pounding her hands against Jason's broad frame.

Jason sighed as the secretary continued to protest - this pitiful fight was being dragged on far too long.

Grabbing a pen from Miss Lynch's desk, Jason angled the writing utensil in his hand, and shoved it into the side of the woman's neck.

The secretary's jaw dropped as blood began to gush from her wound.

"Uh…_uhhhhh…"_ she moaned, her eyes rolling back into head.

Slumping forward, the woman fell limp, collapsing atop Jason and rolling down onto the carpeted floor.

Jason, breathing heavily, retrieved his machete from under the front desk, and was just about to slip out into the hallway when he spotted Miss Lynch's computer screen, which still glowed brightly despite the blood that was sprayed across it.

GWEN STEVENSON -

LOCKER #2641-009

_Hmmmm… _

Perhaps finding new victims would be easier than expected.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Jason made his way over to the office door, and closed the blinds.

xxx

Gwen, tired after the events of the night before, made her way up and down the halls of Clearmont High, not making eye contact with anyone, not even with Erin, who tried to get her attention at least two dozen times throughout first period.

Why should Gwen even _pretend _to be happy?

Nicole, Chloe, and Gina continued to relentlessly harass her, Mark and Derek had seemingly been wiped off the face of the earth, Nathan wouldn't even look at her, and, to top it all off, she had to endure detention with (shudder) Mr. Norwood later that day.

_Great…could life get __**any **__worse? _

Making her way across the tiled floor, pushing and shoving lumbering jocks out of the way, Gwen trudged down the hall, deciding to make a short stop at her locker on the way to PE.

Locker #2641-009, in all it's rusted, battered glory, was probably the worst locker a student attending Clearmont High could be assigned – with its door hinges ancient and decaying, it looked as if could fall out of the wall at any minute.

Struggling to keep her eyes open, Gwen grabbed the combination lock, and spun the dial around once, twice, three times -

36, 14, 58…

Gwen threw the door open, looked at the spot where her gym bag would have been on any normal day, and screamed.

She screamed, and screamed, and screamed, her trembling arms raised and her fingers pointed at the dripping object that stared back at her.

Miss Lynch's severed head sat there, silent and unmoving, gazing off into the distance, but no matter where Gwen stood in relation to the locker, she could have sworn that the sickening, yellowed eyes were fixed on her.

Gwen suddenly felt her knees buckle, and in order to keep herself from fainting in the middle of the hallway, she slammed the locker door shut, and began to race down the corridor, tears streaming down her cheeks as she brushed past the few students remaining in the hall.

"Help!" she wailed, flailing her arms in the air. "Oh, God, somebody – _anybody! _Please…" 

Making a sharp left turn, Gwen emerged in a newer hallway, which had just been designed and built over the summer.

"Please, somebody - ! Help me! Oh, my _god…!" _

If anyone had heard her, no one bothered to pay any attention to her pleas; rumors had already circulated branding Gwen a freak, so her peers dismissed her cries as the ravings of a lunatic.

"Why won't anyone _listen _to me?" Gwen moaned, reaching out for someone…

But they all just turned away, too annoyed to even mock Gwen and her hysterics.

_This is the end… He's – he's __**inside **__the building… _

Every last ounce of strength in Gwen's body expired as she struggled to keep herself from fainting.

The others – _oh, God, the others! _– they needed to be warned, to be saved, before…

_Before he found them, too. _

Just as Gwen was about to slump up against a row of lockers and take a breather, a strangely-familiar shadow loomed over her, and immediately her insides froze in terror.

_Mary, Mother of Jesus… _

Not now, not here….

However, instead of plunging a machete into Gwen's backside, the shadow reached out with two hands, grabbed Gwen by her shoulders, and spun her around.

There, frowning in displeasure, stood Mr. Norwood, his lips pursed.

"Miss Stevenson, I hope you have a good reason for prancing around the hall frightening your peers…"

For a moment, Gwen's fears flew out the window as she whispered in a choked voice, "Oh, Mr. Norwood, thank _God _I found you! Something _terrible_ has happened, and I – I, oh, Miss Lynch is _d – dead…!"_

Mr. Norwood's eyes widened as Gwen slumped up against him, sobbing hysterically.

_Patricia…dead?_

"Show me what you found," he ordered, sounding more serious than ever, his voice barely wavering. "Take me to the body."

Gwen, sniffling, nodded her head, and began to retrace her steps back down the hall, with Mr. Norwood right at her heels.

"Was it a heart attack…?" he mused, his head spinning. "She's been under such stress lately, what with the disappearances of Mark and Derek…has an ambulance been called?"

"Believe me, Mr. Norwood, there's nothing anyone can do to help her now," Gwen breathed, her voice hoarse. "I didn't even have a chance to call the police, I was so terrified…"

With cat-like reflexes, Mr. Norwood whipped out a cell phone as he and Gwen turned a corner, the row of identical lockers straight ahead.

Dialing 9-1-1, Mr. Norwood held the mobile device up to his ear.

"Yes, operator, I'll hold – hello?"

Gwen, frantic, ran ahead of her teacher, and stopped dead in front of locker #2641-009, surprised to find that its rusted lock, which she had remembered dropping on the floor, had been retrieved by someone and was now preventing her from opening the locker.

A familiar feeling of dread washed over her as she spun the dial three times with her trembling hands:

36, 14, 58…

With a sharp creak, the locker door swung open, and Gwen was greeted by her old gym bag, which had been missing only five minutes ago.

Meanwhile, in the background, she heard Mr. Norwood say: "Yes, that's right – 665 Maplewood Avenue… Thank you, officer."

Gwen felt her throat clench as Mr. Norwood jogged over to where she stood.

"What's going on?" he asked, genuinely concerned.

"M-m-Mr. Norwood…" Gwen gasped, the world around her reeling.

_Oh my God – there was no proof…absolutely nothing…_

"Gwen, where did you find the body?"

Unsure of what to say, she stammered, "I-it was right here… Just a minute ago, I _swear!"_

"This is serious, Gwen – _what's going on?"_

Unable to speak – hardly even able to _think_ – Gwen spun around and ran back down the hall, desperate to escape Mr. Norwood and his endless questions.

"Gwen! _Gwen!_ Miss Stevenson, _where_ are you going?" Mr. Norwood's voice echoed throughout the corridor.

She had to hide – _she had to_ – if not from her history teacher than from the masked lunatic who was stalking and butchering innocent people all around her.

This was it – do or die.

Well, hopefully not _die…_


	13. Chapter 13

"Someone _please_ tell me what the hell is happening around here?" Gina demanded, her eyes lowered into snake-like slits.

When no one seated around the cafeteria table answered her, she snapped, "_Well?"_

They sat like stone statues – no one even _breathed_.

While Nicole kept admiring her recently-polished nails, Chloe was busy drumming her long, slender fingers atop the table, watching as Nathan nervously shook his legs.

Erin, as if on her own isolated island, sat apart from the others, barely able to keep her eyes open – it had been a miserable night.

Gina, usually soft-spoken and quiet, was now brimming with fury.

"I don't understand why this is happening to _me!"_ she squealed in anger, her petite hands clenched into fists. "Why _me?"_

Chloe, rolling her eyes, hissed, "You just _never_ know when to shut your friggin' mouth, huh, Gina?"

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?" Gina retorted, her lips pursed.

"It _means_," Chloe hissed, jumping from her seat, "that we're _all_ a little stressed out, okay? My boyfriend's missing, too, Gina – what's worse, they found his _blood_ in the locker room. So yeah, don't blame me if I'm a bit of a bitch today!"

Gina simply rolled her eyes and muttered, "Oh, don't give me _that_ – you're a bitch _every day_…"

"Can you idiots just sit down and shut up?" Nicole snapped, rubbing her temples. "God, you're giving me a migraine… And for the record, last night wasn't too fun for _me_ either, as if any of you even _care _about me anymore…"

When Nathan tried to lean in to comfort her, she tensed and moved away, insulted.

"We all need to stay calm," Nathan pointed out, attempting to be the voice of reason amongst the four young women. "We need to get organized – make a plan. Stick together."

"Thanks for the pep talk, Coach, but I think I'll be heading off," Gina said with a fake smile, rising from her chair.

"Did I not just say that we should _stick together…?_" Nathan sigh, turning to face Gina as she exited the cafeteria.

"Well, unlike you other idiots, _I_ don't have to stay afterschool for detention. Plus, I don't have any classes for the rest of the day – why should I just stay here and rot? I've got a Pedi scheduled for 2:30, anyway."

Upon noticing the disapproving glances from her classmates, she grumbled, "I'll bet you _Mark_ will appreciate my painted toenails when he gets back…"

With that, she disappeared out the door and into the hallway, leaving the other four just sitting there, stunned.

"Damn," Chloe breathed, chuckling slightly. "That girl is even more conceited than _me!"_

Suddenly, she paused and turned to face Nicole.

"By the way," she began, "whatever happened to your friends, Miranda and Kevin?"

xxx 

Mr. Norwood sighed tiredly as he examined the area around Gwen's locker for any signs of a body.

Impossible.

Nothing.

_What would he say when the police arrived…?_

xxx

Gwen pressed herself against the wall of the hallway, slowly inching along down the corridor, afraid to even breathe.

She was a survivor, after all – she had withstood years of countless insults and physical beatings from peers who felt that they were better than her.

But then again, name-calling did not compare to being struck down with a _machete - _

Her world was now nothing but a cat-and-mouse game, and she was quickly falling into last place…

xxx

_Hmmm…_ _This place is too quiet for 2:00 in the afternoon…_ Gina mused as she strolled down the hallway, her stiletto heels echoing like firecrackers atop the cold, hard floors.

Clearmont High students with social lives of any sort _always_ left school in the early afternoon on Mondays – _nobody_ had classes after 1:30.

Yet the school had taken on a strange new aura since the previous night – everything was _dead_.

Literally.

As quiet as a graveyard.

_Weird…_

_Leave it to Mark to just fall off the face of the earth…_ she thought, sour. _He probably just jumped in his car last night and tore down the Interstate to God knows where._

It was hard being popular – she always needed to keep her boyfriend on a tight lease, ensuring that he never got the chance to scamper away.

_Great job, Gina, you let him loose… Now you'll be lucky to see him ever again._

Knowing Mark, he certainly left town.

_But why…?_

None of it made any sense…

A sudden shiver ran down Gina's spine, snapping her to attention.

What felt like the crisp autumn wind blew all around her, but when she looked up at the hallway windows, she saw that each of them were closed and bolted.

Yet a chilling, tingling sensation had overcome Gina's entire body, jolting her out of her inner thoughts and leaving her standing in the middle of the hall, shivering.

She suddenly felt the urge to cry out for help, but she kept her jaw clenched shut, amazed that she was nearly frightened to death of a little breeze.

_Hold yourself together, Dammitt – this is ridiculous._

Taking a deep breath, she quickened her pace down the hall, turning corners and following the arrows painted onto the pale-yellow brick walls until she found herself standing in front of the main office, the cream-colored shades drawn, allowing no light to seep out into the hallway.

Reaching for the handle, Gina was shocked to discover that the door was locked.

"Oh my God," she breathed, frustrated.

Releasing the handle, Gina was tempted to knock on the door, but quickly decided against it.

Whatever.

She'd just sneak out.

Sighing, Gina spun on her heel, and trudged back the way she came, eager to leave the school, which seemed to be getting colder and colder with each passing second.

_I should have worn my jacket…_

As she passed a storage closet on her way down to the parking lot, the young women froze in place, the hairs on the back of her neck standing in a sign of red-alert danger.

_That damn chill – what the hell is __**happening**__ around here?_

Grinding her teeth, she turned and shouted "Who the hell is following me?" just as the closet door flew open with a gust of wind, and a dark shadow reached out and lunged for Gina, grabbing her by her arm.

Screaming, Gina didn't even have time to react before the shadow pulled her into the closet, slamming the door shut behind her.


End file.
